The Witcher - Something More
by CelticBabs13
Summary: This story line explores the growing bond between Ciri and Geralt that started when she was a child and grows to fall in love with the man that had saved her and set her free. This SL may not be for everyone, however, please give it a chance. I don't own these characters, just have been moved by their story that I needed to delve deep into their hearts. Cover by elliewritesstories.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

Chapter 1: Prologue

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The Witcher - Something More _Prologue_ White Orchard - Yule 1272

When something ends, something else begins.

He did not press his horse, Roach, into a quicker trot. Instead, he let her trudge along the snow-covered road at her own pace. Her hooves crunched on the icy road, the sound glaring, echoing in the stillness. The frigid breeze bit through his cloak, and battered large white fluffy flakes drifting down from the sky in all directions. Although eager to get to the warmth of the village inn, he had ridden her long and hard. Now he wanted to take it easy on her for the rest of the journey.

Creaking leather, both from his armor and saddle, sounded distinct and louder than usual in the icy air. His shoulders sank a little lower, bracing against the frigid wind. He sighed. The weight of the world did not disappear. Not like he thought. But the truth of it? It was a different kind of strain. A path lay before him now, unknown, unfamiliar. His gloved fingers tightened on the reins. Did he possess the strength to move forth in this new role? So foreign to him, how could he prove to be… adequate at best? He knew nothing about... He shook his head, still in disbelief. Snowflakes fell off his hood at the movement only to get stuck on his beard.

But the worst of it? Treading forth on a foreign path alone… Again.

He should be used to it by now. In the near century that he had wandered the world, he did it alone. He walked The Path alone, preferred to work alone. Oh, there were times when he enjoyed the companionship of lovers, but those relations were casual. True meaningful intimacy eluded him. Not because others did not want to make that bond with him. No, it was not them. The deficiency lay with him. In his inability to truly open himself up to another. He had found respite only with a couple significant women, and even then, those instances were rare. His friends, other brothers in the trade, dispersed, following their own ways. Uncertain now when they would ever meet up again.

Glancing at the western horizon, the pure white snow blanketed the ground and foliage. The sun had set bathing the sky with tints of blue and lavender glistening off a sea of white. It set the landscape in an ethereal misty glow. No words could describe its beauty and the sight inspired thoughts of new beginnings. Somehow, the snow clinging to everything masked nature's imperfections. It bore a redeeming quality. While everything now lay dormant for the winter, the promise of new birth followed. Maybe someday soon, he would find redemption… that spring would shine on him, wash away his imperfections.

At this time of year, he usually wintered at Kaer Morhen, the one place he had ever called home. He and his friends would weather the harsh winters there before taking up The Path again in the spring. But this year, it was difficult to make the arduous long journey back to an empty fortress. What few witcher brothers were left had vacated the Witcher School of the Wolf after its founder and chief witcher, Vesemir, had passed away over the summer.

The fact that his companions had left so suddenly after his death disheartened him. True, the fortress would never be the same without Vesemir's presence, but it was the only home they had ever known. They grew up there. He was not ready to let it go. The few other witcher schools had already crumbled and its members wandered the continent or, killed off. The School of the Wolf was the legendary guild headquarters where they had created witchers for centuries. He could not leave it abandoned. No. He would not. Vesemir would… well, he would be heartbroken if the final symbol of their occupation was on the verge of extinction. He pressed his chapped lips tight together. But what could he alone do? How could he restore a fortress alone? Was it even up to him when had a… Dammit.  
He heaved another sigh. What he wouldn't give to be able to have a heart-to-heart with the elder witcher now. The one man who was the closest figure of a father. A man of wisdom, Vesemir would have guided him in the direction he now faced wrought on by recent events.

Facing uncharted territory, he needed words of encouragement and advice from his dear friend and mentor. Vesemir's loss had hit them all hard. He had departed this world defending the life of one very dear to him. Dear to all of them, but to this witcher especially.

The one in whom he, the legendary White Wolf, had a tremendous influence since her inception. A course he had set in motion that no one, perhaps only Destiny, could have foreseen. A path that was often brutal and heart-wrenching, yet rewarding in its own way. Yes, rewarding. In a manner he never could have imagined. For Destiny had brought him Zireael, Swallow, Child of Destiny, Child of the Elder Blood, the Lion Cub of Cintra… his Surprise Child - inherited by a misplaced and untimely invocation of the Law of Surprise.

Was it misplaced? At times, he questioned it, but deep in his soul he knew the answer.

He steered his mare down the center road of White Orchard, heading toward the inn. A few townsfolk, bundled up in layers of clothing, braved the cold. One gave him a wide berth, but it was not because he was dominating the road. Greatly feared, or often enough despised, most people avoided him as much as possible. He was a witcher. The two swords strung across his back were the most recognizable traits that distinguished him from the rest of the population. And his pure snowy hair. The white mane that contradicted his youthful appearance often confused people. For a man in his prime should not have pure white hair as if he were in his senior years. The hood of his cloak covered his head now. One other villager stepped aside, peering at him with fear in his eyes. Most avoided his gaze, or when they could not, shot him reproachful glares. If that was all they did, he was lucky. Some people had gone great lengths to show their disdain of him and his kind.

He sighed again.

It was tough for witchers to blend in with society. Physical traits alone made them stand out in a crowd, and unequaled with their skill with the sword. He had accepted the fact he was an outcast, one to be shunned until his services were needed. But at times, it still stung.

This outcast had a large hand in saving the entire world from an otherworldly elven conquest. If that was not enough to boast about, he also helped save the world from the infamous prophetic White Frost. But the world's inhabitants would never know it nor acknowledge it, instead preferring to behave in a manner familiar.

The price of saving the world had been a steep one. It had cost him the man whom he had considered a father. It had also cost him his home, his dear friends, and the love of his life. There wasn't much more he could give, although he had gained something more he had never believed he could have. But even in that, fate was particular.

But still, he had his faithful companion, Roach. Stroking her neck, he cooed softly. They were almost at the inn and she would be warm eating her fill of oats shortly. She snorted, great clouds of frosty air billowed from her nostrils as if she understood him.

The light falling snow stuck to his full beard and blended in with the white of his whiskers. Turning into the front of the inn, he dismounted and left Roach in the care of the stable boy with instructions on her proper care. His mare meant a lot to him and there was nothing he would not provide for his faithful companion.

A gloved hand rested on the door and he paused. It was here at this inn eight months ago when the course of his life had begun its dramatic turn.

Now… well… now everything was different. Times have changed.

Pushing open the door, a wave of sound and firelight washed over him in welcoming warmth. Breathing in deep the mouth watering aromas of roasted pork and potatoes reminded him he should eat. However, his stomach clenched tight, prevented him.

Some things have ended.

He stepped over the threshold with both exhilaration and apprehension tumbling about his insides. Scanning unfamiliar faces sitting at tables or standing by the hearth, he searched the tavern for someone in particular. There, back in the far corner, a cloaked individual of slight frame sat with their back to him.

Memories washed over him, filling him with a myriad of emotions he had finally come to accept. Emotions that had become a part of who he was. No sense denying them any longer.

Now... now was the time to welcome a new beginning. To embrace _something more..._


	2. Chapter 2 - Amidst the Shadows

Summary:

Assuming the Witcheress Ending at the end of TW3 video game, Geralt meets up with Ciri at the White Orchard Inn. Elated to see her again, something was not quite right.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Amidst the Shadows**

Drawing in a ragged breath, he ignored the glares and curious glances from other customers. Taking another step, he then halted. His gaze, set upon that cloaked lone figure in the corner, never wavered.

A drunkard dressed in filthy rags stumbled in his path blocking his way and his view. Bleary-eyed, instead of moving aside the man swayed, tried to pass him, and stopped. He stank worse than a stable not cleaned for a week.

"Hey," the drunkard slurred. "You're that, whaddaya call 'em? W-witcher! That's it. Remember you, mutant." He belched, the foul stench of stale beer combined with a fish dinner rivaled the stable odor. A high-pitched hiccup came next and the man lost his balance. Shit, it was winter and all, but it wouldn't hurt to bathe more often.

Several men huddled around a nearby table hooted and hollered shoving the drunk back on his feet. Turning his head, he glanced away, focusing his attention once again on the cloaked figure in the back.

"Weren' chew here lash shummer?"

"Excuse me." Maneuvering around the drunk, he crossed the room dimly lit by torch and candlelight. Passing the hearth, its warmth seeped through his thick black cloak wet with snow. He would have lingered in front of it, thawing out his hands and feet, but he had yearned for this meeting and did not want any time wasted.

Approaching the cloaked individual, he took a deep breath. The familiar scent of woman, of this particular woman, registered in his nose. The aroma he knew well. At one time, the fragrance of lilac and gooseberries titillated him, intoxicated him. But that was a distant memory now. This scent was raw and natural, of leather and steel, and soft womanly freshness tinged with only the scent of lilac. Influenced by Yen, no doubt. Heart thumping, he pushed back his hood and laid a hand on her slender shoulder.

Turning toward him, her hood concealed most of her features. But then she glanced up. Brilliant green eyes gleamed in the candlelight framed by ashen hair. A smile slow and bright spread wide across her diamond-shaped face. The familiar pink scar marred her cheek from under the left eye to ear. Odd, that scar invoked nostalgic sensations warm in his belly. Hell, invoked much more than nostalgia.

"Ciri." He faltered and her name was all he managed. Straddling the bench, he sat next to her and enveloped her in his arms. Hers wrapped around him clutching him close. Mugs clanged, dishes rattled, a cacophony of voices, all the noises blurred in the background to a dull hum.

"Geralt," she murmured, her familiar voice soft in his ear, her breath warm on his neck. He closed his eyes, savored the moment.

Breathing in her scent, pride swelled in him. She had accomplished what she had set out to do and survived. He squeezed her tight against him. He swept the hood off her head and gave himself permission to absorb her presence. His gaze roamed over her features, his hands smoothed down her back. Ashen hair swept back into the customary bun at her nape, a timeless style she had always preferred. Cheeks tinged pink, eyes glittered with that glow whenever she looked at him. Stunning as always.

Something in her gaze faltered, a wrinkle, barely noticeable to the human eye, but evident to his, marred her smooth skin between her dark brows. That was not there before her confrontation with the White Frost. A minute detail that aged her slightly and spoke of the hard life she had lived. He frowned. Something had happened since she had left them to confront the White Frost.

The flush in her cheeks intensified in response to his admiration. "Looking good yourself, Witcher." Her fingers tickled his stubbled chin. "Haven't seen you in a full beard in a long time. I don't know… Maybe I'll get used to it."

Scratching his cheek, he grimaced. "Can't wait to shave it off. All of it. But for now it's keeping my face warm."

A waitress stopped at their table. "Can I get you two anythin'? Beer, ale?" Her scathing glance left Geralt only to rest on Ciri. Eyeing her, the waitress' lip curled.

An older woman with salt and pepper hair and eyes lacking any joy, she wiped her hands on her soiled apron. Leaning down, she drawled, "Can I get you a mug of milk, child?" as if she were talking to a kid.

"I'm no child," Ciri spat in her usual feisty manner.

Geralt grinned inwardly but shot the waitress a scolding glare. "That was no way to address a lady, ma'am."

"Oh, my mistake." No apology hinted in her response. "What about you, grandpa, what can I get you?"

He sighed. All right, he got it. Hair and beard as white as milk aged him. It often confused people, but it still stung. He was in his prime, for fuck's sake.

"Listen, lady," Ciri spoke the word with contempt. "He is a Witcher. Show some respect, would you?"

On that cue, Geralt glanced up at the waitress giving her an unobstructed view of his eyes. Blanching, the waitress took a step back and fidgeted with her skirts avoiding his gaze.

"Two beers-" he ordered in a gruff voice.

A hand covered his wrist.

"Hot cider."

His eyes slid to hers and then back at the waitress. "Two, please."

Speechless, the waitress nodded and hurried towards the kitchen.

Geralt watched Ciri closely. She met his gaze, her fingers fumbling with the clasp on her cloak. The thick wool folds fell open.

"Everywhere you go," she shook her head. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Used to it." He smiled at her, then dropped his gaze to the table. A small wooden vase sat at the end stuffed with evergreen boughs. Their green branches drooped over the sides touching the top of the table. Mostly, he was used to it. But sometimes, deep down, it stung. So different from ordinary folk, he would never blend in with society or ever become one of them.

"How are you feeling, Witcher-Girl?"

"I'm fine, Geralt. Even better now I'm with you."

He dropped his gaze, not entirely believing her. Looking more gaunt than usual, he surprised himself at not seeing it earlier. And the dark circles tainting the skin under her eyes. Scrutinizing closer without drawing attention, the dark smudges were not from the heavy kohl eyeliner that lined her eyes like he initially thought.

"Want something to eat? I've got plenty of coin, so anything you want-"

She shook her head and paled almost imperceptively, but he caught it.

"All right…"

Eyeing her out the corner of his eye, he was not sure how to ask this. His gaze scanned the room before speaking. "How did you do it? I mean… how'd you defeat the White Frost? And, are you feeling okay?"

She paused, peering at him, and when he glanced down, she smiled. "Yeah. I'm fine. Nothing to be worried about."

He nodded. She was happy. Despite a sense of anxiety she tried hard to conceal, he knew she was happy. That alone made him the happiest he had ever been.

Ciri beamed up at him. Chin pointed up proudly, her eyes glinted in the soft golden glow. "Conquered the White Frost. At least for a long time."

"You did it, Ciri. You truly are a remarkable woman. Damn proud of you. But how did you do it?"

A mug clanked down in front of him, the liquid sloshed over the sides and spilled onto the table. The second mug landed just as hard in front of Ciri.

"Charming hospitality," he muttered.

The waitress huffed, gave him a wide berth and scurried back across the room.

"Can't say I blame her. The last time I was here, Vesemir and I defended ourselves from a bloody brawl started by some locals. Did not end well for them. Sure I bring all that back whenever I show up."

She laughed and the sweet sound washed over him soothing him. He loved her laugh. She took a sip careful not to burn her mouth. "Mmm. Haven't had mulled cider in…. ages. Missed this from the old days."

"Me too." He took a sip.

"How's Yennefer?"

The dreaded question. Sighing, he set down the mug and wrapped his palms around the pottery. The heat seeped through his leather gloves. "Afraid you'd ask that."

Her gaze fell to the table. "She's my mother, Geralt. I need to know…"

"Of course you do. But…"

She waited unusually patient for him to continue. All the while, she stared outside the window covered with frost along the sill and edges.

"Haven't seen her since you left through the portal Avallac'h opened. You know, to face the White Frost. She... Well, she blamed me for not bringing you back."

"I'm sorry Geralt," she breathed. "I know how much you loved her."

"Still do, actually."

Ciri's gaze snapped to his, a questioning look in her eyes.

"But in a different way. Not like I used to. You know my heart belongs to another."

She relaxed and smiled at him, her grin lighting up the dim chamber.

"I should've said goodbye to her. Should've explained my plans. I… Just knew it would be too hard. And I'd falter. Had to do that… confront the Frost." She glanced at him and smiled a melancholic smile.

"But you two still have each other. Yennefer would be overjoyed to know you've returned and are safe."

Nodding, she wiped a strand of hair from her face. "Where is she?"

He sighed. "Last saw her on Undvik. After you left through the portal, the shield Avallac'h kept around the tower dissipated. She teleported to me."

Resting an elbow on the table, he stared at what was left of the cider.

"Discovering you had left… ah, haven't seen her that livid in a long time. Gave me a good lashing. Still stings," he added under his breath. "Avallac'h couldn't console her either. Tried explaining what you needed to do, but she just couldn't see past her pain of losing you. She teleported away in a fury. Don't know where she went. Haven't seen her since."

"That was… four months ago." Her eyes misted over. She blinked rapidly staring at her mug. "I'm sorry, Geralt. I should have handled that better. That was selfish of me. Hadn't considered yours or Yennefer's feelings when I leaped away mere moments after you defeated Eredin and the Wild Hunt."

She leaned in close, her eyes hooded and sincere. He did not take his eyes off her when she pressed her lips to his. Neither of them moved, the kiss lasting a delicious eternity. Every muscle melted at the contact. Her lips smooth and silky calmed and heated him.

She pulled away, their lips holding onto each other for another lingering moment before parting. Sighing, he licked his lips, still tasted her.

"Never had the chance to properly thank you."

"For what?"

Her unwavering gaze held his then it roamed over his face loving every bit of him. A flutter rolled in his belly.

"For everything. For being the man I could trust with my life. For challenging and defeating two commanders and the king of the Wild Hunt. No small accomplishment, Geralt. You've done more for me than anyone."

"I'd do anything for you, Ciri," he murmured.

"I know. I'd do anything for you, Geralt. Hope you know that."

Tugging off a leather glove, he swept aside bangs that had fallen loose near her eyes. "I do," he whispered.

She shook her head, wiping a stray tear from her lashes. "Ugh. Can't talk about Yennefer anymore. Hurts too much. I fear I've hurt her. Maybe she'll never want to see me again."

He took a sip. Hurts too much. That was an understatement. Every relationship he had hurt. Normal for him.

"Don't believe that. She loves you more than anything. Even more than me. You could find her. Anytime you want you could go to her."

"Yes, I will go to her shortly. I need her, Geralt. I mean, I need you too, but in the next few months, I am going to need her. But, I wanted to be with you first." She fixed her bright gaze on him. A shadow of worry darkened over them for a moment then she blinked and looked away. She drew in a shaky breath. "Speaking of fathers…"

"Weren't speaking of fathers," he pointed out.

"Well," she waved her hand in the air dismissively. "We are now. How did he take the news? Did he believe you?"

Silent, Geralt took his time drawing a pull from the mug. Its cinnamon spiced heat warmed him all the way down. He sat down the beverage and stretched his legs under the table. "Honestly, have no idea. Your father is a hard man, Ciri, and tough to read. Told him what you wanted in the most convincing way I could."

"That's all I could ask for. This way he'll stop hunting me down. Thanks, Geralt."

A silence settled between them thick like a fleecy blanket. He eyed her and took another sip. "When are you going to tell me what you really want to say?"

"What?" The mug wobbled on the table when she let go of it. Cider splashed over the sides.

"You heard me."

"How'd you know?" she whispered, her cheeks reddened.

Quirking his eyebrow, he did not answer right away. When he did he kept his voice low. "Your heart rate is quick, your smile, at times shaky like you are nervous about something. You look tired, weary. What is it?"

"Not here, Geralt… please. Rather not be in a public place."

"All right." He stood up. "Will get a room…"

Her hand snapped out and clutched his arm. "Took care of it. Already rented one for the night."

Sitting back down, he nodded. "Good thinking. The place is busy."

"Yeah, all the rooms are taken."

"Let's go then."

Finishing the cider in one large gulp, he deposited the mug on the table. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and rose from the bench. Offering her a hand, she shook her head, muttering something about being able on her own. Her fingers clutched the heavy black cloak closed across her chest. Something about the cloak pricked his subconscious, but his focus on her buried any further thought.

"Follow me," she passed ahead of him and headed for the stairs, her cloak billowed out behind her. Some drunken townsmen leered and whistled at her. When their gazes landed on him, their jeers turned to filthy taunts and crude jokes. Ignoring them all, he followed her tall, but slender frame to the staircase.

"Which room?"

"The last one on the right."

"Meet you there. Gonna grab my saddlebags first."

She nodded.

He watched her reach the second floor. Gods, he was so glad she made it back. After she willingly left to face the Frost, he honestly steeled himself against the thought that he'd never see her again. It was a reality he could not live with. He understood Yennefer's anger and fury. But, Ciri was back and he could breathe again.

The door clicked closed.

Every nerve ending popped alive as soon as he stepped into the room. She bit her bottom lip. Keeping her excitement in check, Ciri tossed another log in the grate and the flames roared. Turning, she removed her cloak and draped it over a chair facing the hearth. Geralt dropped his saddlebags on the end of the bed.

"Nice room," he said. "Bigger than expected."

"Yeah," she nodded. "Must be the honeymoon suite. It was the last available one." He chuckled and waves of tingles racked her lower belly.

Removing his cloak, he watched her with those unique cat-like eyes that only a handful of other men in the world possessed. She faced the fire again eager for its warmth, not knowing why. Although the room was chilly, she burned from within.

"Have something for you."

Glancing over her shoulder, Geralt picked up a scabbard from the bed. It was not one she had seen before. Steel hilt and guard glittered in the firelight. Widening her eyes, she took a step a forward.

"It's… beautiful," she breathed.

He stood before her, tall as a towering sentry. She breathed in deep his familiar scent of leather and steel mixed with that natural woodsy fragrance of pine and campfire. It was an aroma she always appreciated and remembered at Kaer Morhen. It was the scent she dreamed of when she could not be near him.

The weapon lay flat across both palms and he presented it to her. She peered in his eyes. They glowed golden, his vertical pupils rounded in the dimness of the chamber. His expression reverent and proud.

Breath caught in her throat, she wrapped her fingers around the etched ivory hilt, its chill bit her palm. Cherishing and honoring the craft that formed this weapon, she slid her hand down the pommel to the circle of steel at the end, its sturdy circumference fitting her small hand just right. This was made specifically for her. Never before had she experienced this sense of awe. He did this just for her.

A quick glance up at him revealed an intense, unblinking gaze, and a slight grin spread across his bearded cheeks. He held his breath then let it out slowly as she stroked the hilt again. Impressive craftsmanship.

"Go ahead," he rasped in that deep gruff voice of his. "Hold her."

Slowly, with reverence, she unsheathed the sword and the high-pitched hiss sang in the room. She held her breath. Pure silver glinted in the golden glow of the chamber.

"Thirty-eight and a half inch blade weighs about forty ounces."

Sharp as a razor, and fit for a witcheress. Runes etched in the blade glistened sky blue when the light hit it just right. They matched the runes of Geralt's silver blade, but this one had a glyph etched just below the cross-guard. She angled the sword in the light. It depicted a sparrow in the Elder Speech. Below the glyph engraved the word, "Zireael."

"Swallow," she breathed.

"Hmm-hmmm," he hummed. "A symbol of spring and rebirth. My little swallow."

"Oh, Geralt," she breathed. Warmth and love overwhelmed her heart and soul.

"Had it made especially for you, Witcher-Girl. Notice the weight? Slight enough for you to wield it, but just as damaging if I were to use it."

Heart pounding, she raked her gaze up to his glittering eyes and beaming smile. "This… is a true witcher's silver blade?"

He nodded. "Silver-plated siderite steel core. Forged by the most talented master swordsmith in Novigrad." His hand smoothed over her hair and caressed her cheek. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his warm palm.

"A witcher needs her silver blade."

A quivering sigh escaped her lips. Hugging the weapon to her chest, waves of emotions ran rampant through her veins and left her light-headed. Her tower of strength, her refuge, her will to survive, her everything, all wrapped up in this one man. The one man who had changed the course of her very existence, gave her a home for almost two years and taught her just about everything she knew about the Witcher trade. Now he pronounced her with the very title she had always yearned to achieve. Just like him. A witcheress.

"This is the greatest gift ever, Geralt. But, it must have cost a small fortune."

"Not for you to be concerned about."

Striding over to the bed, she carefully laid the sword on the downy comforter. Turning, she rushed into his full-bodied embrace, clutching him close. His arms enveloped her, his warmth seeped through cold leather, chain-mail, and sharp buckles. She was back in his arms again, the one place she ever longed to be.

"I love it, Geralt. And I love you."

Reaching up, she raked her fingers through his long milk-white hair and drew his head down towards her. His lips captured hers before she could do likewise. Strong arms wrapped around her back crushed her against his chest.

She laid a hand on his chest and broke the contact. With a sigh, she turned back to the fire and hugged her stomach.

"What is it, Ciri?"

"Nothing."

"Don't believe that for a second."

The jingle of buckles and chain-mail crashed to the floor. Leather came next. Then he was beside her at the fire wearing only his leather trousers. A large hand rested at the nape of her neck. A delicious tingle shot down her spine to join the tumult already churning in her belly.

"Ciri. What's wrong? Moved on from me already? It has been four months. Found a nice strapping young man?"

"Don't be silly. You know I only want you."

"Then tell me what's wrong. Thought you'd be overjoyed to see me again."

"I am," she whispered. "Just... don't feel well, is all."

His brow crinkled.

She turned to him. "I'm tired, Geralt. So damn tired."

"If anyone has earned a good rest, it's you." He led her to the bed. "Get undressed. Tonight, I'll just hold you." He placed a kiss on the side of her neck, just beneath her ear.

Her eyes misted over and she nodded. "Yes, that would be lovely."

Once in bed, he stretched out behind her and pulled her close against him. His chest hairs soft against her back comforted her. His hand slid down her side from ribs to thigh and back up again before he draped his arm in the curve of her waist. Her gaze found her new sword propped against the nightstand. Sighing, she found his hand and intertwined her fingers between his long ones. He squeezed her hand and held it tightly.

This was how she remembered the nights on the road all those years ago when she was a terrified little girl. Only he kept the fear at bay. Warmth flooded her mind, body, and soul. Here in his arms she was safe and treasured. Not for who she was or how she could further the gain of another, but to Geralt she was simply his little Witcher-Girl. His destiny. The heat he generated seeped through her inside and out. Once again her protector and mentor. Everything would be all right. She longed to stay here, just like this… _always._

Sleep descended quickly. For the first time in a decade, she slept peacefully, void of nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Question of Price

Chapter 3 Summary: Geralt suspects Ciri may be paying the price for what she went through in confronting the White Frost. A toll on her body and soul that may require Yennefer's attention. But there is one thing Geralt wants to complete, something more to give his new Witcheress. And so they set out on a journey. Follow me on Tumblr

 **Chapter Three  
**

 ** _A Question of Price_**

Geralt's eyes slammed open, his ears piqued for a sound that yanked him from a delicious dream and a perfectly peaceful slumber, but could not recall. Heart thundering, the fingers on his right hand twitched for his sword. Letting out a slow breath, he stilled. No danger around. That's right. He was at an inn. And safe.

But his ears burned. His eyes grew accustomed to the room's dimness in an instant. A wagon rattled by crunching on the snow-covered road. He stifled an irritated groan. Indistinct voices, near and distant, and horses' hooves clattered proved already the village had sprung to life. A gray slice of light filtered through the drawn curtains.

Next to him, the bed empty, the rumpled sheets cold. A chill bit the air and he missed the warmth she brought during the night. He glanced into the room, sensing something not right. An unpleasant sound alerted him near the fireplace. Gingerly, so he did not startle her, he rolled onto his back. The fire had long since died down and only red embers smoldered, but it cast enough light for his sharp eyes.

On her knees before the hearth, wearing only the red tunic she wore beneath her armor, Ciri hovered over a chamber pot and groaned softly, rocking back and forth. So quiet as not to awaken him. Her agonizing noises would not stir a normal man, but him, well, he was a witcher, and his extra sensitive hearing picked it up in a sound sleep.

A fist twisted long ashen locks over her shoulder away from her face. She spit into the pot. A stubborn strand of saliva strung from her bottom lip to the bucket, glistened like a silky spider web in what little firelight was left. She uttered a whimper and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Sitting back on her legs, she pressed an arm across her stomach as if it pained her.

He propped up on an elbow and frowned. He had never seen her ill before. She never got sick at Kaer Morhen as a kid.

"Ciri...?" he croaked, sleep thickened his voice.

She snapped her gaze to his, her face paled more than it was already. Looking away, she wiped underneath her eyes and smoothed back long tangled hair.

Throwing off the covers, he swung his feet to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees. He peered at her. "You all right?"

"Fine," she breathed. "Must've been something I ate."

She did not have anything to eat, he recalled, only drank the cider. But, he did not point that out. Perhaps all she needed was to eat something.

He stood. Clutching the comforter, he dragged it from the bed. The corners of the blanket trailed behind him on the floor. He reached her side and wrapped the quilt around her thin form. She gathered it about her, clasped it close around her neck. Crouching down beside her, he smoothed some stray strands of silvery hair that clung to her face. He pressed a palm to her forehead. Clammy, but not hot.

"Not feverish. That's good."

Despite that, she rested her head on his shoulder and shuddered. He drew her into a warm embrace and stole a quick glance in the chamber pot. Not much in there except bile. "Clearly something is bothering you, Ciri. You're not the sickly kind and you hadn't eaten anything. If you talk about it, you'll feel better."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "I'll be okay," she mumbled into the folds of the quilt.

Cool fingers gripped the heavy silver wolf-head medallion that rested against his sternum. With slow strokes, her forefinger traced the smooth angular edges of the wolf's face, lingered on its nose over an open mouth baring sharp fangs in an eternal snarl. Her touch was reverent, meaningful. It was the symbol of his guild, no, their guild. The pendant trembled with her nearness, as it always had. Sharp tingles pricked all of his witcher senses like usual when she was close.

Her eyes, green as the emeralds of her late grandmother's royal necklace, clouded over, lost in a melancholic memory. He knew full well what she recalled. Vesemir's medallion. Identical to his own, Ciri had snatched it from his funeral pyre to keep as a memento of her mentor and friend. Of the chief Witcher who was like a father to them all. Shortly before she left to confront the White Frost, she battled the three Ladies of the Woods, or Crones as some called them. Believing she had defeated all three, one had tricked her and made good her escape. But not before tearing Vesemir's medallion from her neck in the process. Ciri, morose at losing it, believed she had lost a connection with Vesemir along with the necklace. Although, she had never came out and said that specifically, but he knew her well enough to know better.

He observed the wrinkle appear between her brows, the crinkle that was not there last they were together. The crease deepened, then her eyes misted over.

Moving on from the medallion, her fingers explored the star-shaped scar that marred his right pectoral, an eternal reminder of the mark of his trade. She traced the jagged edges, slow and purposeful as if she could magically erase it. His muscles quivered beneath her touch.

Sighing, with a palm to his chest, she pushed away and drew in a deep breath through her nose. "Feeling better already," she stated.

"You need to eat. When was the last time you had a solid meal?"

"Don't remember. The other morning. I think."

"Ciri…," he shook his head, a stubborn strand of white hair at his temple fluttered near his eye and he swiped at it unconsciously. He stood and found his saddlebags on the floor by the bed. Rummaging through them, he pulled out a hunk of crusty bread from a small linen bag and sniffed it. Smelled okay. Might be stale, but it would do. Wrapped in a gauze cloth, he found a wedge of goat cheese that did not have any mold. Returning to her, he crouched down and handed them to her. "Here. You'll need your strength."

She frowned. Reluctant, she accepted the bread and tore off a chunk and nibbled on the corner. "Thanks."

Satisfied she was eating something, he stood and tossed a couple logs on the fire. Within moments, flames roared lighting the room and spread delicious warmth. He sat down on the chair, watching her finish the bread and start on the cheese.

"You slept in your trousers?" Her gem-colored gaze dropped to his legs for a moment.

He stared at the flickering flames. "Hmm-mmm."

"That had to be uncomfortable."

Yeah, it was, but necessary. Had to keep something between them. Flesh against flesh was too arousing. Just her lying flush against him alone was tempting enough. The leather barely did the job, but it was better than nothing. "Would've been uncomfortable for us both if I hadn't," he grumbled.

She paused with the hunk of cheese to her lips. A slow grin spread along her face, then she bit off a piece. She chewed, her eyes on him. "That must've been tough for you last night."

She had no idea. As if mocking him, the blanket slipped off her shoulder piling in a heap of folds on the floor next to her. It exposed more of her than he felt comfortable. Her tunic was a mid-riff style that came just below her breasts and left her belly bare. His eyes traveled over her narrow waist and alluring curve of a hip marred with a long scar. He did not mean to gawk, then glanced at the fire out of propriety. But his eyes, by their own volition, slid back to her. He let out a slow breath that sounded more like a hiss. She was practically nude if not for the short tunic that did little to cover her womanly form. She made no move to cover back up. How comfortable she was with him.

Despite her nakedness, he frowned. Always slender, her build sleek and athletic, but to his horror, she was thinner now than last he saw her. Before, her rib cage was noticeable just beneath her skin. But now, an unhealthy detail of each rib was prominent. Disturbingly so.

Silence weighed heavy between them like the quilt covering her. He bent forward and wrapped the blanket back around her shoulder. Holding her emerald gaze, he laid a hand at the nape of her neck. "What's happened to you?" he uttered, leaning in close.

His whisper hung in the air. His gaze swept over her features, mere inches from his own. Her eyes dropped, hidden beneath pinkish lids. Then she met his gaze unblinking. Determination pierced him. The answer he expected never did come. At least, not the one he wanted.

Shuddering, she shook her head, pulling away. Her chin rose up in that stubborn manner he knew so well.

He dropped his arm, but remained close. "You can talk to me, Witcher-Girl. I'm here for you."

Chin still high, she shifted her gaze to the dancing fire. Its orange glow tinged her paleness with some color. Sighing, he dropped it. No one made Ciri do or say anything she did not want to.

After battling the Wild Hunt, she immediately left to face the White Frost. Although he wished she had not left so quickly, he wanted more time with her. But she left, sensing the time was right. Her bravery inspired, and in no way could he imagine what she went through dealing with the threat that only a select few had truly understood. No one else had the ability to do it. She tread where no one could go. It was clear something had happened, and the consequences apparent now. He had not considered the toll it took on her, the price she had paid all her life for this gift. Maybe she had not either.

Perhaps, he should take her to Yennefer. She could certainly attend to her physical and emotional needs. Ciri had mentioned she would need her in the next few months. Maybe now was the time. As luck would have it, he had no idea where Yen was. But that fact was trivial now. Ciri could transport right to Yen with a mere thought. And take him along with her.

Ciri finished the chunk of bread and cheese. Satisfied, he stood and her hand snapped around his wrist.

He gazed down at her.

"I - I know, Geralt." She offered a sad crooked smile, her thumb rubbed the sensitive spot on the inside of his wrist. The sensation shot tingles through his whole arm and down his back. "Just... not ready to talk about it," she said in a small voice. "Please give me time."

He wished she would confide in him. Always had in the past, why not now? Sighing, he nodded. He'd have to wait for her to open up in her own time.

The golden flash of firelight glinted off his medallion drawing his attention. The pendant, more than an adornment, more than a piece of his armor set, was a part of his soul, like a permanent magical glyph etched on his chest. It defined him, labeled him for others, and alerted him of danger and magical auras. It was an essential tool for a Witcher. One he never went without.

Glancing across the room to the nightstand, the silver sword he gifted Ciri shone in a slice of gray morning light that beamed through the curtains like a beacon. He turned back to her.

She stayed on the floor wrapped up in the bulge of the over-sized quilt and peered up at him adoringly with large glistening green eyes. Youthful, her pixie-like features gave the impression of innocence, but what she had been through, that innocent-young-girl-look was just that, a facade. Despite all the horrors she had experienced, this young woman saved the world. Hell, not just their world, but countless others as well.

Breathing in deep, pride warmed him through. He had always believed she was extraordinary. And now, she had fulfilled her purpose. And he helped her. For he and his other witcher brothers had taught her to defend herself, trained her with the ability to fight with the sword. Yennefer had equipped her with magical knowledge. Avallac'h, that blasted elf from another world, also aided her with her ability that only a few individuals possessed within the history of their world.

Amazement shot tingles through him that settled in his fingertips. He was damned proud to be a part of her life. Hell, lucky she was a part of his. Memories of her running around Kaer Morhen… The young ten-year-old princess who had wrapped five Witchers around her little finger, strutting around the fortress as if it had belonged to her. He could not help grinning. Precious to him, those days he treasured in his heart.

"Get dressed," he said, excitement bloomed in him. "We'll eat a solid breakfast then head out." He gave her a wide smile. "Give you a chance to wield your new blade."

That did it. She gleamed as bright as the daylight shining in through the windows. She rose from the floor and marched toward the bed, the quilt trailing behind her like a royal gown. Within moments, she had dressed in black leather armor with an assortment of belts and straps, a layer of chain mail over her shoulders, and high black leather boots. She strapped her new sword across her back, smiling the entire time.

He dressed and tossed her the fur-lined cloak. She adjusted the buckles of the belt that held the scabbard until it was comfortable before wrapping up in the cloak.

"What?" she asked with a grin. "You're staring at me, Geralt, what is it?"

"Ah, n-nothing," he stammered, looking away, embarrassed that he made her uncomfortable. He strode over to the windows and thrust the curtains open. Bright grey daylight flooded the chamber.

"Come on, what is it?" she prodded.

Glancing out the windows, frosted at the corners, the sky had brightened promising a clear day with sunshine. No snow, rain, and no ice. Great day for traveling. He glanced back at her. "You're… you've... grown into a stunning woman, Ciri. Strong-willed, fearless... You're a force to behold."

Her smile, bright and genuine, warmed him through. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? To think I was once a terribly frightened little girl who couldn't be out of your sight. How I've changed, huh?'

"Yeah, a lot. Completely," he murmured. He handed her a saddle bag and slung the other one over his shoulder. "Come on, I'm starving."

The idea that had occurred to him would get everything off her mind. Probably what she needed right now. Yeah, this was good.

She'd be so glad and… happy when they were through.

Yennefer can wait. For now.

Bundled up against the biting wind, they left White Orchard behind and headed southwest for Velen, giving the imperial city of Vizima a wide berth. They dared not risk recognition by the Nilfgaardians or the cover Geralt so expertly delivered was in vain. More over, his lie, if discovered by her father, would likely get him executed. One did not lie to Emhyr var Emries, Emperor of the largest empire in the known world without dire consequences.

But she could not go on wondering and worrying if he would continue to pursue her. Ruthless foes of her past, the mad wizard, Vilgefortz, the sadistic bounty-hunter, Bonhart, were both dead, the Wild Hunt defeated, and the White Frost impeded. All that was left… her father's tireless hunt to bring her back to the Empire in the hope she would claim her rightful inheritance. An inheritance she wanted nothing to do with.

Everything was behind her now and nothing would hinder her living her life the way she wanted, and certainly not what everyone else wanted. As long as she was with Geralt, nothing else mattered.

A bit annoying, Geralt refused to tell her where they were going, only that it would take several days of hard riding to get there. When she kept insisting, with finality, he said, "You'll figure it out once we get close, so stop asking."

She made a face at him. He grinned and winked at her. She smiled back, loving it when he smiled. She wished he would do it more often, and when he did, something inside her came alive. The doubt and fear always vanished with his presence, but his smile, only for her, sent delightful tingles through her limbs.

And eventually, she did stop asking. So, it was to be a surprise. And she would let it be a surprise. Because it came from him.

The ride was slower than anticipated. A few days or so into their journey, the sun vanished behind low-hanging ominous clouds, and the snows started. Lightly at first, large fluffy white flakes blew easily in the breeze blanketed everything. Although pretty, it did not take long to turn into a hard snowfall that obliterated everything. Small ice pellets stung the face and coated branches and the brush, and even more so, the roads. Forced to seek shelter, Geralt steered them to a rural manor tucked back in the woods in southern Velen, north of the village called Downwarren.

Through the thick white haze, an orange glow lit up a single window of a sprawling manor house. "We'll stay here until the snow stops." Geralt swung off his horse, his booted feet crunched through the snow.

"Where are we?" Shivering, Ciri dismounted from her chestnut mare. "Someone lives here?"

"Dolores. This is Reardon Manor. Follow me, there's a large barn over here. It's dry and should be warm."

"Been here before, have you?"

He did not answer, only opened the double wooden doors that creaked and groaned piercing the stillness. Ciri winced and glanced around, but could barely make out Geralt just a few paces before her. The snow pelted her in the face. She buried her nose in her scarf.

The doors slammed open against the walls with a gale force that nearly tore the doors off their hinges, and blasted snow into the barn. Ciri's cloak whipped against her legs, strands of white hair swirled out from Geralt's hood. If no one heard them before, they did now. She glanced toward the house expecting someone would investigate.

The horses danced in place, shook their manes, their snorts echoed loudly in the blustery night. Wet snow spattered her face and she gripped the reins in a fist. Geralt urged an anxious Roach inside. Her chestnut followed, entering the barn with less anxiety. She stood between the horses, cooing and soothing the mares. Geralt fought to close the doors against the wind. He managed, and slammed the wooden plank into the bracket barring them shut.

Darkness swallowed them. Ciri shuddered, holding her breath, not knowing why. The gusts whistled and howled around the barn, thumping tree branches against the back wall elicited an eerie sense standing in pitch blackness. Her horse snorted, her breath warm, fluttered against Ciri's neck.

A snapping of fingers sounded. An orange burst lighted Geralt's fingertips and then torches and candles nearby lit with a bright orange-yellow flame. She grinned to herself. That never got old.

Fresh rushes covered the entire floor of the large L-shaped space. Several stalls stood on the right side of the structure. Only one horse occupied one of the stalls. A work bench with shelving lined one wall, hoes, rakes, and a pitchfork hung on another. Crates and barrels stacked on each other filled every corner space.

Ciri led her chestnut into the stall next to the lady of the manor's' horse. The grey colored bay stared at her, then continued munching on oats from a bucket. Geralt led Roach into the stall beside her.

"Plenty of hay here." Geralt snatched a deep wooden bucket and scooped up hay from a pile in the corner and dumped a heaping pile in the troughs of both stalls. Their horses wasted no time.

Ciri plucked a torch from the wall bracket. Holding it out, she inspected their surroundings. The space was large and not many torches lined the walls casting most of the space in shadow. Stacks of chopped wood lined the side wall by the door. Wonderful, she thought. They could have a fire too. Hay mounds were plentiful providing food for the horse and a natural and effective insulation. Geralt was right. It was dry and considerably warmer than she expected. "Nice place. For a barn."

"One of the better ones I've seen. Even by Novigrad standards. One could live here quite comfortably and if I recall, someone once did."

"Is that…?" Ciri stepped closer to a nook in the inner corner of the L-shape and held out the torch. Shadows danced over a large round object. "Oh, it's a spinning wheel."

"Don't prick your finger," he chuckled.

"Wasn't planning on it."

With his back to a stall, Geralt looked up toward the ceiling. Ciri followed his gaze. A loft, used for storage mostly, contained several barrels and crates.

"We'll sleep up in the loft. Would you get it ready? Gonna let Dolores know we're here for the night."

"There's room up there?"

"Plenty."

Holding the torch high, she peered into the farthest corner obscured in darkness. Nothing but barrels and spider webs. "Sure she'll be okay with us helping ourselves to her barn?"

"Positive."

She glanced at him for a moment. "Helped her once, didn't you?"

Geralt opened the door and stepped outside into the swirling snow and tugged the hood down low over his face. The breeze whipped his cloak and hair in a dizzying vortex about him. Turning back towards her, he smiled a knowing smile and closed the door with a low boom.

"What was I thinking?" she muttered aloud. "Of course, he did."

Ciri unsaddled both horses and brushed them down. After filling their water pals with water from the well outside, she rummaged through the other saddlebag and retrieved an apple. Offering it to Roach, the mare sniffed it, then bared her teeth and snatched it out of her hand gently. Grinning, Ciri stroked the mare's nose and then offered an apple to the other horses.

Now she could get started on creating a comfortable space for them to spend the night. She climbed the ladder to the loft. Several candles glued to the floor in their own puddle of wax, their soft golden glow lighting up the cozy space. He was right, it was spacious up here too.

To the left was a cozy alcove. The slope of the ceiling and barrels lining the edge of the loft created the feel of protection and privacy. A perfect spot to sleep. Mounds of hay lined the walls and she spread some on the floor close and smoothed out their blankets on top. A metal brazier in the far corner opposite would contain a fire safely. Logs piled in it already saved her the trouble of hauling them up the ladder. Dragging the brazier into the alcove, she lit it with the torch and a fire blazed in the grate. It was warmer in the barn, but in this weather, they needed all the heat they could get.

After removing her sword belt, she stretched out on the blanket nearest the ladder and waited for Geralt.

She must have dozed off. When she opened her eyes, she lay on the inner blanket closest to the wall. He had moved her over. Geralt stretched out next to her on his side facing her, their cloaks covered them both. He wore a cotton tunic. Reaching her hand over beneath the cloak she encountered leather. He had on his trousers again. She grinned to herself.

The flames had died down some, but still offered a warm glow. Another wind gust blasted the side of the barn whistling through the wooden planks. The flames danced erratically for a few moments then settled. A horse whinnied, probably Roach. Skittish mare, she was.

His arm around her shoulders provided safety. She hungered for this kind of intimacy. Smiling and content, she rolled into the crook of his body and closed her eyes. His regular breathing soothed her. The heat he generated warmed her. He squeezed her closer.

With an arm draped over her in that protective way, Ciri melted against him and sighed. It was a sound one made in utter contentment, close to a purr, like a cat curled up in a ball in a warm safe place. And it pleased him. She had always experienced that complete trust and safety with him.

They lay like this for a long time, him listening to the slow steady thrum of her heart beat and deep even breathing. At one point, she whimpered and jerked against him, plagued by a dream.

"I'm here, little Witcher-Girl," he murmured near her ear. When she was a young girl, he had soothed her with those same words. He tucked her head underneath his chin and hugged her tight. "You're safe tonight."

She relaxed against him and sighed, her hand searched for his. When she found it, she intertwined her slender fingers through his large rough ones.

His eyes drifted closed again. But instead of sleep descending upon him, his thoughts returned to the one place that she had called home. And the precious months she had spent with him….


	4. Chapter 4 - Destiny Calls

Chapter 4: Destiny Calls

Chapter Summary: While Geralt and Ciri sleep peacefully in the barn at Reardon Manor during a bad snowstorm, Geralt remembers the time she became a part of his life. In 1262, Ciri was 11 years old when her home and country were overtaken by Nilfgaard. Family and friends, all dead, she was lost and alone, a displaced princess with no where to go and no one to protect her. We know from the book saga that a black knight, with winged birds of prey on his helmet, had plucked her out of the carnage during the massacre, thus saving her life. In "The Sword of Destiny" short story, Ciri had escaped the Black Knight and fled toward Sodden. There, a kind family had taken her in to be one of their own, the daughter they never had. One day, Geralt stumbled upon her at that merchant's home. Coincidental or an act of Destiny? But upon setting eyes on him she had no second thoughts about staying with them. She wanted only to be with him. Not knowing what else to do, Geralt brings her home to Kaer Morhen. This chapter begins detailing their journey to Kaer Morhen... Follow me on Tumblr

Notes: This chapter opens with a more fleshed-out re-telling of the ending scene in "Sword of Destiny" short story with the conversation between Geralt and Mousesack.

CHAPTER FOUR **Destiny Calls**

 **Brokilon Forest, 1261**

"You will not escape, Geralt." Mousesack looked him hard in the eyes. "The child is linked to you by destiny."

Geralt studied the old druid. His long, full beard made his own scruffy week-old stubble itch. The elderly man did not avoid his gaze. "A mistake," Geralt ground out in a soft voice. The crackling of the fire was the only prominent sound in the quiet forest. A soft breeze whispered through the trees and tall grass with the ease of a silk negligee sliding off slender shoulders. "I acted without thinking it through. I've spoken with Calanthe. Four years ago, Mousesack. Didn't the queen inform you? Renounced my claim on the child, much to her great relief."

"It's destiny, Geralt." The druid locked gazes with him, unfaltering, unblinking. "You think it was because of a few words spoken, a vow demanded and then renounced? No. Destiny is far greater than your invocation, than your unwillingness. Much more far reaching than our finite minds could ever grasp, Witcher. Destiny lies in the fact she is an extraordinary child. And she has chosen you."

Geralt held the druid's serious gaze with a grave one of his own. "You expect me to believe she wants to go with me? For what? To become a Witcher? A little girl? You don't even realize what that entails."

"You demanded a vow from her parents, from her grandmother, the queen, and they've upheld that vow." Mousesack tossed a stick into the flames. "Oh, I know you've renounced it. But you will not escape."

Geralt gritted his teeth. The finality of the druid's intonation, the certainty of his belief… He swallowed a harsh retort. It was pointless. A waste of words. "From destiny?" was all he managed instead in a tone slathered with sarcastic mockery. It should have irritated the man who sat before him. There was no destiny save one. The same destiny all faced.

"Ultimately, yes," Mousesack answered with unruffled conviction. "But that was not what I meant."

Geralt gritted his teeth and waited for the druid to complete his thought.

"I meant you will not escape from her." With a jut of his chin indicating the direction of the campfire, Mousesack's somber gaze slid to the slumbering form of the ten-year-old princess.

Geralt glanced as well. She lay underneath a tree on a bed of soft grass and pine needles. The waning orange glow of the dying firelight cast dancing shadows over her slight form wrapped in the druid's jerkin.

"She would not fall asleep until you cuddled her. She searched for your hand and murmured your name a few times tonight already. So when you asked me if I believe she wants to go with you, my answer is yes."

Geralt's throat tightened. He rose quickly without another word and strode to his horse in purposeful strides. That was exactly why he needed to leave. In the handful of days since he had found her, lost and alone in this dangerous forest, she clung to him, terribly frightened. He understood the attachment. Although, he could not blame her, it was too dangerous. He tightened the straps on Roach and slipped his booted foot into the stirrup. He paused, his gloved hand squeezed the leather reins. Instead of mounting his horse, he took three steps toward Mousesack.

"Tell Calanthe again, it was a mistake. I should not have invoked the Law of Surprise. I take it back, I do not hold her to it, I do not claim her. I'll not rip a royal heir from a loving family and rich heritage only to bring her to a forgotten ruin of a fortress on the other side of the world inhabited by five witchers. It's a hard, gritty, dangerous, and lonely life, druid, and I would not impose that upon her. Would you?" Although soft spoken, Geralt's deep gravelly voice seemed to hang in the air, drifting before it dissipated. He glanced over at Ciri. She did not stir.

"She's your only chance, Geralt."

He grated in a deep breath. "I asked you a question, Mousesack. Would you commit her to a life like that?"

A heavy silence settled between them.

"Like I said, she is your one chance."

The silence thickened, became suffocating. The air thinned and for a moment, Geralt found it hard to breathe as if the very forest held its breath in anticipation. He held his, silently willing the druid would respond first. It was futile. He exhaled. "Chance for what?"

Mousesack's gaze pierced him with an expression Geralt could not identify. "A chance to be a father. We both know you are incapable of siring a child-"

"How dare you," Geralt hissed.

"I meant no offense, my friend." Mousesack said gently.

"No? Oh, you are bold, druid. She had a father. And I am not a father, and never will be. I'm a Witcher. That is all I know and all I will ever be."

Only the snapping of the fire responded.

Geralt turned his back to the druid, then faced him again, his lip curled. "Her destiny…" He spat out the word. He coughed and lowered his voice to a seething whisper. "She'll be queen one day. That is a far better life than what I could-" Geralt bit his bottom lip halting his words. His throat tightened.

"Cirilla needs a guardian, Witcher."

"She has one! You for the moment, and a queen with a royal guard when you take her home."

When the druid made no attempt to further the conversation, Geralt mounted his horse in one swift motion. "She is better off with you. Take her back home, Mousesack. Where she belongs."

The druid gazed up at him in silence, a whorl of emotions swirling around in his dark eyes. Then he simply nodded. "Until we meet again, Witcher. Good luck on the Path."

"Give Calanthe my regards."

Mousesack dipped his head in a polite nod.

Tugging the reins, the horse turned. Geralt glanced one last time at the sleeping girl, who in the space of a few days had melted his heart. He shot a glance at the old wise man. "Tell Ciri to forget about me. For her own good."

Spurring Roach from the camp, darkness enveloped him. The Brokilon Forest, with ancient trees towering so high one could not see their tops, boded ill for any who dared cross its borders. Peering between the trees and bushes, he was well aware of eyes watching and ears listening. The Dryads would let him leave in peace as they would let Ciri and the druid leave, for they were not foes.

He walked Roach through a valley of heather, their stems reaching his boots. When he reached the trees again, his sharp gaze caught the glint of a pair of eyes near a tree. The Dryad stepped out just enough for him to spot her. Long wavy olive green hair stuffed with leaves and vines camouflaged her well in just the right places. However, his eyes raked over her slender and toned figure covered only by a short cloth about her hips, and high boots accentuated curvy legs. Holding his breath, he swallowed.

She lowered her bow, sliding the arrow back into the quiver strung on her back. She nodded, a slight smile drawing across her face. With a tilt of his head, Geralt acknowledged her and kept on riding. Once he sensed he was alone, he breathed easier.

"Gerrrrraaaalt!"

The shrill scream pierced the stillness and jarred him. Clamping his mouth closed, he kept riding when his name reached his ears. She called for him. No, Ciri screamed for him to come back in that desperate hysterical wail of a child whose world had shattered around her.

"Come back! You can't run away!"

He willed himself to keep going despite her gut wrenching cries. It shredded his heart like a bruxa tears apart her prey with long vampiric-like claws, but he kept riding.

"Gerrrrraaaalt! I'm your _destinyyyyy!"_

Her high-pitched screech echoed down the hillside, crashed through the trees, bowled through the valley of heather, and pierced his soul like a silver blade sliced through drowner flesh. But he kept riding. Hardening his heart, he reminded himself he was the cold, heartless Witcher. Lied to himself that she was better off without him. Witchering was not a life for a young girl. Nor being in the company of one. His invocation be damned. His claim be damned. They could not understand that by leaving, he did her a favor. Did her grandmother a favor. Did them _all_ a favor.

Swallowed in the blackness of the moonless night, he trudged forward, his mood darkening with each step of Roach's hooves. The last few days, Ciri was a bright light in the gloom of his world, but he had to snuff that out too.

He was a Witcher. He had to leave. That was what he did.

Alone.

Always.

 **Velen – Northern Temeria  
Late Summer 1262, One Year Later**

Breathless and weary, Geralt stepped into the curtain of frigid cascading water. It enveloped him and he breathed in deep through his nose. Fresh water, wet earth and grass, the strong aroma of mildewed rocks, and the sweet scent of verbena flowers filled his senses. The late summer night was comfortable, the water, cool and refreshing. It rushed over him in beating waves.

"Cool me off," he breathed. No one, except perhaps Mother Nature, heard his breathless plea. The torrents plunged from above, pounded him, both gentle and hard. It soaked him, plastered his long hair to his back. It seeped into his pours, but did not banish the images of soft curves and delicate rounded breasts from his mind, nor the titillating familiar fragrance of lilac and gooseberries from his memory.

Tilting his face up into the showering waterfall, he impatiently waited for its chill to smother the fire, and at the same time, relished its soothing sensation. As usual, vivid, lucid dreams heated him to the core. She dominated his dreams at night. Every nerve ending tingled, a sweltering and uncomfortable need pulsed through him, uncomfortable because he was alone, but not by himself. He had not been with Yennefer or spoke to her in several months. Even though their last words were angry ones hurled at each other in a fury of pain, among other physical objects, the mere thought of her, still ignited him. As if an after-thought, he rubbed his shoulder where he had broke the trajectory of a glass bottle.

Shit, he must purge Yen from his mind if he were to stay sane. He ground his teeth. They had ended their relationship. It was over. Period. Again. Been down this road before. Several times. At least until he swallowed his pride and apologized. But dammit, it would mean more if she sought him out for once and apologized instead. Why did he grovel all the time?

If two people were so passionately attracted to each other and had great sex, why the hell couldn't they stay together like normal couples? Granted, they were not normal individuals, a witcher and a powerful sorceress, far from it, but still, they should act like a couple in love would act. Why did they hurt each other so often? These questions, the same ones he had asked himself for the last decade, still plagued him.

He raked fingers over his scalp and through his hair. It had been days since he last bathed, but a clingy young girl made it difficult to find privacy. He only managed to sneak away while she slept by the campfire. He glanced toward the ring of firelight by a cluster of trees several yards up the grassy hill. The delicate slumbering form of the innocent and helpless eleven-year-old princess of Cintra stretched out on his bedroll.

He stepped gingerly around small pebbles and rocks on the bottom of the stream and waded to the grassy knoll. On a large boulder sat a towel, a bar of fresh smelling soap, and a razor. A firefly lit in front of him scurrying about it's business. He gripped the long straight razor, and scraped it in one long smooth stroke across a soapy cheek from ear to jawline.

But another one in his life now needed his attention. A young lady needed him more now than ever. With a slow measured stroke, he pulled the blade down his other cheek.

A dreadful fate befell the girl. Truly alone now, she had no one and no home to go back to. He dunk the razor beneath the water's surface. Then ever so slowly, he scraped the blade up his neck and underneath his chin.

Her home, overtaken by the damned empire to the south, left few to no survivors as far as he could gather from the girl. Ciri's grandmother, Queen Calanthe, had perished in the battle. Ciri's mother and father had died at sea years ago, and Mousesack, the queen's druid… Ciri could not tell him what fate befell him. Perhaps he escaped the carnage.

A pang twisted his belly. Such a shame Calanthe was gone. He liked her. Young, even for a grandmother, she was beautiful, spirited, regal, powerful… and a friend.

Splashing frigid water on his face, it's chill soothed the burn. While drying off, a high-pitched screech pierced the stillness. Ciri writhed and kicked on the animal hide, arms and legs flailing as if beating off an unseen attacker.

He groaned. Again? The second nightmare tonight. The first one had woke him up earlier.

Tugging on his trousers, the leather did not move quick up over his damp skin. It glued to his shins. Shit. Her screams grew louder and more frantic. With the trousers now half-way up his thighs, he started for the camp, but the pants constricted his movements. Wobbling in short steps, and then hopping, he yanked them up, cursing all the while, attempting not to faceplant in the process.

"Gerrrrraaaalt!" Her shrill screech echoed through the trees. She bolted up, frantic, scanning the camp looking for him. "Geralt, where are you!?" The sob that choked her melted his heart.

"I'm here, Ciri." Several strides away, he stopped and fought with his pants again.

"Geralt, is that you?"

Finally, he managed to get the trousers up over his backside. Lacing up the front quickly was another challenge. "Calm down. It's me. I'm right here."

"I can't see you. Come closer! It's dark."

"Give me a minute, all right?"

Fumbling with the laces, he managed to close his trousers. In a few strides, he entered the ring of firefight and knelt down alongside her on the hide. Wild from thrashing about, he smoothed back her tangled hair. "I'm here. It's okay. You're all right. It was just another bad dream."

At the sight of him, she calmed, yet tears still streaked down her face. She sniffled hard.

"That was quite a nightmare," he said gently. "Want to tell me about it?"

Sniffling, she wiped her wet cheeks and nodded. "A big scary knight in black armor. He... He had large wings of prey on his helmet and he wore a long cloak. He..." she sniffled again.

"It's okay," Geralt cooed. He sat down on the pelt and reached for her hand. She gripped it eagerly.

"He stole me away in the middle of all the fire. Fire... so much fire!"

Geralt listened without commenting, but gave her his full attention.

"He took me away from my home, even though... Oh, I can't, Geralt! I can't!" Sobs racked her small frame.

Unsure what to do, he gripped her shoulder and squeezed it. Her sobs became more intense. Should he hug her? What if that frightened her more?

Clutching his arms, she pulled herself closer and threw her arms around his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her, smoothing down her hair and back. So small and delicate, he was afraid he'd crush her. "Is he what you dream about? That scary black knight?"

Her head nodded in the crook of his neck. Warm tears pooled there. Geralt sighed, his heart aching for this trauma this child had endured. He thought he had a rough childhood. A mother, who abandoned her son, handed him over to the Witcher school when he was a babe. He never knew his parents. Was that worse than knowing them and losing them? No. It was not.

If he ever crossed paths with this black knight, a Black One, the Nilfgaardian knights were called, he'd make him wish he never existed. "Ssshhh. He's gone now, Ciri. No need to worry about him anymore. He'd have to get through me first."

She pulled back and stared at him for a long while. Water escaped his hair and dripped down his chest and back. The firefight glinted yellow on her ashen tresses, glistened in her emerald green eyes.

"It's still early. Dawn's not far off. Get some more sleep. We still have a long journey ahead of us."

She folded her arms across her chest, a glare as icy as the stream chilled her eyes.

"You left me, Geralt."

The sharpness of her accusation surprised him. He sighed. "No, I didn't. Was in the brook, just over there."

"Don't ever leave me, Geralt. Please."

This time her tone softened, pleading. Her bottom lip quivered again and it nearly undid him. The fear in her pixie eyes, wide and innocent, dispelled any frustration only to be replaced by regret.

He was to blame for that, he sighed. He had abandoned her a year ago. Leaving her in the hands of the druid, he left the Brokilon Forest like a… He ground his teeth. Like he left all females he grew attached to.

Recalling her screams as he rode off that night, he grimaced. It took days to shut out her desperate wails from his memory. He could only imagine the trauma she experienced because of him. Add on top of that what had happened recently and he sympathized for her. Deeply.

But he had his reasons for leaving that night, legitimate reasons. He did it for her own good. Now, things have changed and come full circle. No uncle to leave her with this time. No home or country to return her.

He held her gaze. "I promise, Ciri. I won't ever leave you."

He leaned back against the over-sized tree trunk. She smiled then, bright and genuine and the sun seemed to shine although dawn barely broke yet. Her gaze full of trust, she snuggled up against his side and searched for his hand. She found it on his lap and gripped it. Her tiny fingers poked through his long calloused ones.

The medallion resting against his chest, trembled. Alerted now, Geralt scanned the trees. His swords, propped up against a tree stump a few paces away, but he could get to them in a hurry if needed. Focusing his hearing, the slight breeze rustled leaves, a lone wolf howled far off in the distance, but he did not detect anything dangerous nearby. Sniffing, he breathed in deeply. Campfire, pine, verbena and Ciri. No danger around, so why did his medallion tremble?

"Ugh, you're getting me wet," she whined and wiped the side of her face from the water droplet that escaped his hair.

"Ah, sorry."

The reality of the situation smacked him hard like the frigid water from the stream. What the hell was he doing? She was an innocent child, a girl raised in a castle. A fucking princess. Now here she was alone with him, a witcher, of all people, bathing in freezing wilderness streams, eating small rations of bread and fruit or whatever game he killed, sleeping out in the wild… He sighed heavily.

What a twist of fate. He hadn't expected the child would be a girl. A fact Calanthe so expertly hid from him when he returned to Cintra five years ago. It was a damned good thing he renounced his claim back then.

But here she was now anyway, despite it all. Appeared destiny had her way, if he believed in such an ideal. What the hell was he supposed to do with a girl? Things would have been much easier had she been a... A boy, he could bring home to Kaer Morhen. He'd fit right in with him and his witcher brothers. He'd learn the trade like other boys brought to the school…. Only there have not been any new boys for generations.

"Geralt, where are we going again?"

Her high-pitched voice jarred him out of his thoughts. He glanced toward the stream. The first grey rays of dawn peaked out over the trees. "Taking you home. To my home," he clarified. "To Kaer Morhen, the Witcher School of the Wolf."

"So that's why you wear a wolf's head pendant?"

"Yeah, it identifies our guild. But it has other qualities too." Still, it vibrated against his chest. Could she tell?

Small fingers reached for it and when they made contact on the wolf's silver snout, she jerked her hand back and sucked in her breath.

"It's… alive!"

He chuckled low in his throat at her wide eyes glittering in the firelight.

"Why is it jittering?"

Why indeed. He'd like to know as well. There's no magic or danger nearby… Geralt peered at her, then afraid he made her uncomfortable, focused on the fire. Unless…

"Why, Geralt? Why is it trembling like that?"

He cleared his throat and gripped her delicate hand in his. He covered the pendant with her hand. It jumped this time, not merely shook like before.

She sucked in her breath again. "Did you feel that?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Did you make it do that?"

"No."

She looked at him clearly not believing him.

"I'm not making it move. It's doing it all on it's own."

"How?"

He waited a beat, silent. She removed her hand and drew closer, inspecting the pendant in the firelight as if she could find out why just by looking at it.

"A Witcher medallion is enchanted with magic. It warns me of danger, but mostly it senses magic nearby."

Her attention shifted to the star-shaped scar on his chest near where the pendant hung. Staying silent, he watched her, but she did not say anything about it.

"Can I wear it?" She settled close beside him again.

He shook his head. "I rarely take it off."

Her lips puckered out in a pout.

"After we get home to Kaer Morhen you can try it on."

That satisfied her. She found his hand again and held it tightly. After a few quiet moments, she stiffened and the hand holding his squeezed hard.

Her voice was low, and quivered. "Are you going to turn me into a Witcher?" Her eyes grew large and fearful. "Will I have eyes like yours?"

"Whoa, slow down. Don't get all excited." He tossed a small stick into the flames.

Her question stirred up some legitimate questions. What would happen once they arrived at Kaer Morhen? The schools were meant only for boys. Not knowing what else to do, getting her somewhere safe was top priority, so Kaer Morhen made the most logical sense. Would they train her as the first female Witcher? Would that be so bad? Developing her stamina through physical training would do her good. Why couldn't she learn sword work? None of these things would hurt her a bit and settled on the wisdom to train her to protect herself. Nevertheless, he coveted Vesemir's guidance and judgment in this unique situation. Together they would figure it out.

"I'm taking you to my home where I grew up. We'll figure it all out once we get there. You won't become a witcher, so don't worry about getting eyes like mine."

She relaxed at that.

"And you'll be safe there."

She let out the breath she had been holding. Looking up at him, she visibly calmed and her lips turned up slightly in a melancholic smile.

That was it. Her deepest fear and greatest need. Safety. Of course that was what she needed most. Everything had been taken from her. Lost and alone, having nowhere to go, no one to watch out for her… She needed to know she was safe and secure.

"Why couldn't I be a Witcher like you?"

He stared at her. One minute the thought frightened her and now she's asking why she could not become a Witcher. He studied her face. "Only men become Witchers."

"No female ever became one of you? Ever?"

Looking down at the ground, he whispered, "No. At least, none that we've heard of."

Frowning, she tossed a tiny stick into the fire. "Why?"

He knew that question would come next, but it still didn't make answering it any easier. "It's a tough, rigorous lifestyle, Ciri. And an extremely dangerous one. A Witcher must be faster, stronger, more clever than the creature he is hunting in order to survive and to protect others. It's a job that is dirty and painful. It's more suited for men."

She thought about that for a few moments. "Has a woman ever tried to become a Witcher?"

Inwardly, he smiled. She was bright for her age. "Not that I've heard. Don't think women desire to be one of us. It's not a glamorous job, by any means. Don't think females would survive the mutation process. A lot of boys didn't survive. Women's bodies are not strong enough to endure the changes."

"What's a mutation process?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about. I'll explain it some other time."

The fire snapped and danced while they both fell quiet.

"What's it like? Kaer Morhen."

He tossed another small branch into the flames. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it a castle?"

He tossed her an apple, a small chunk of cheese, and crusty bread he snatched from the saddlebags. "Yeah, it's a castle all right. It was built into the sheer cliff face of the Blue Mountains. In Elder speech, the name means Old Keep of the Sea, _Caer a'Muirehen."_

She sounded out the elven name softly.

Geralt smiled. "Wait until you see it. The view is… indescribable. You'll have to see it for yourself. But the fortress is ancient and crumbling in places."

"You don't fix it up?"

"We're not wealthy, Ciri. We do the best we can, but a fortress is a huge place for five men to keep up."

"Only five?"

"Yeah," he croaked.

A comfortable stillness settled between them. Both tossed small sticks into the fire.

"What's it like living there?"

He chewed an apple piece and swallowed before answering. When he did, his voice was soft. "It's quiet. The castle is isolated in the valley. We're the only people there. Sometimes friends come and visit, but not often. Vesemir lives there full time. You'll meet him. Pretty much runs the place. You know," leaning towards her, he lowered his voice as if he were revealing a secret. "It's believed he's older than the castle itself." He chuckled when her eyes went as round as saucers. "He's the oldest living Witcher and he's in charge. He taught us all how to walk The Path. He trained us in sword fighting-"

"Is he your father?"

Blinking, he looked at the fire. He hadn't expected that question. "Physically, no. Witchers are not able to have children. But, yeah, he is a father figure to all of us. You'll like him a lot."

"Then who is your father?"

"I… don't know, Ciri. Have no memory of him. Vesemir is the only father I've known."

"So, you've lived at Kaer Morhen your whole life?"

"Yeah, that's right."

A ray of sunshine filtered through the trees. Geralt rose and kicked dirt over the fire. It hissed and the flames turned to black smoke.

"Come on, princess. Let's pack up. Need to hit the road."

She snorted un-princess like.

He crossed over to the other side of the campfire. His medallion settled down. "Get used to helping out around here and especially at Kaer Morhen. You won't be treated like a princess anymore."

"I'm not a princess anymore," she declared with a hand on hip. "I'll be a Witcher! Like you."

"Well, Witcher-girl, get moving." With a smirk, Geralt tossed a blanket at her and dressed in the rest of his armor. After packing up and securing everything to Roach, he was about to hoist her up into the saddle, but she batted away his hands and mounted on her own.

Swinging up behind her, he spurred on Roach. The pendant quivered again. A sudden wave of anxiety gripped him, drying his throat. His medallion proved Ciri possessed magic. What kind of magic or abilities, he had no idea. The irony… appalled or astonished him, he was not sure which. All he was certain about, was bringing home a girl to a Witcher school for men. And she belonged to him now. She had no one else to turn to and it was up to him to protect her, to figure out what was best for her now that her world had completely changed.

"Geralt?"

He steered the horse through the trees. Roach shook her head, her mane whipped around before settling against one side of her neck. "What, Witcher-girl?"

Ciri settled back against his chest. "I'm so glad you found me in Sodden. Although, I would've stayed with the merchant's family… for a little while at least. Eventually, I would've left them."

"What for?"

"To find you."

Silent, Geralt swallowed hard, his eyes burned. "Is that so?" he croaked, his voice tight.

Her head nodded, her ashen tresses moving in waves about her shoulders. "That's right. Although Uncle Mousesack told me to... I - I couldn't."

"Told you what?"

"I'd never forget you, Geralt. Never."

He lost the ability to speak. Instead, his arms squeezed her closer as he gripped the reins tighter.


	5. Chapter 5 - Novigrad Reunion - Part 1

I apologize for the loooong wait!

 ****Please NOTE: This story is updated regularly on AO3. If you want more content faster, click below link and bookmark it.**

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 **Thank you to all who still wish to read this story line! It means A LOT to me! :)** Follow me on Tumblr HERE for update notifications.

Chapter Summary:

All he wanted to do was get a room at an inn on a stormy night. Unfortunately, Geralt learns what towing a young girl around earns him and reunites with an old friend in the city of Novigrad.

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 ** _Novigrad Reunion - Part 1_**

 **Free City of Novigrad, 1262**

I apologize for the loooong wait!

 ****Please NOTE: This story is updated regularly on AO3. If you want more content faster, click THIS LINK and bookmark it. Thank you to all who still wish to read this story line! It means A LOT to me! :)**

Chapter Summary:

All he wanted to do was get a room at an inn on a stormy night. Unfortunately, Geralt learns what towing a young girl around earns him and reunites with an old friend in the city of Novigrad. Follow me on Tumblr

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 _ **Novigrad Reunion - Part 1**_

 **Free City of Novigrad, 1262**

An eye-piercing flash of silvery light lit up the Hierarch Square and the tall brick buildings that surrounded it, as bright as day. Multiple brilliant flashes in rapid succession scorched the brain and Ciri's hand flew to her eyes. From her vantage point inside the stable, she scanned the square. It was eerily empty due to the stormy night.

Dark movement caught her attention. She stared at the lone figure heading towards the inn. Draped in a dark cloak fluttering about long skirts, a lady tread with care across the cobblestones. Hood pulled low obscured her features, and she avoided as many puddles as possible with the light-footed grace of a ballerina. Another round of white flashes stung the eyes. Her movements appeared clipped and unnatural during those flashes.

Ciri watched with a strange fascination. Why would a woman be out alone in this weather? Although drenched, she did not walk any faster in the pouring rain. Behind her, Geralt's deep raspy voice, soft and soothing, gave a young teenage stable boy strict instructions regarding the care of his mare. Muffled underneath the angry thunder clap that shook the stable, most of what he said was lost. She smiled to herself. He fussed over Roach all the time. Clearly, his mount meant a lot to him. Another one of the many traits she loved about him.

She turned and leaned back against the door frame. The clink of coins dropped in the stable boy's hand and he nodded patiently. For a stable in the middle of a city, this one was nice. Clean and dry, the stall was larger than some stables she had seen. Granted, no match for her family's royal stables, but… An empty knot twisted her stomach at that thought and her eyes stung. Blinking rapidly, she turned away, not wanting Geralt or the cute stable boy see her cry as if she were a child.

The cloaked individual stepped through the door and Ciri jumped, startled. Cheeks flaming, she bit back an automatic retort. She had not counted on the lady coming to the stable. Figured she headed for the inn.

Dripping water around her, the newcomer, taller than most women she'd known, tossed back the soaked hood. A mane of glorious red locks cascaded in long ringlet curls that framed a heart-shaped face. Milky chocolate-brown eyes glittered in the candlelight.

Ciri sucked in her breath.

"Hello."

The woman's smooth and husky alto voice washed over like honey. Impeccable makeup accentuated beautiful eyes with long lashes and lips stained the same shade as her hair. A sweet floral perfume conflicted with the poignant smell of stable.

Ciri swallowed, and shrank away. "Hi," she mumbled. She smoothed back uncombed tresses and clutched her cloak closed in front of her.

The beautiful lady smiled and leaned down. "Aren't you adorable, little one. What's your name?"

Heart thumping, Ciri scurried over to Geralt and clutched his hand. He glanced down at her and turned around.

Geralt's gaze landed on the newcomer and his expression changed. It was a look she had not experienced before and immediately did not appreciate it. His golden gaze raked over her slender form and revealed too much interest for her comfort.

The woman's eyes sparkled. She grinned. "Well, well. It's none other than the White Haired One. Haven't… ah, had the pleasure in a while, Geralt."

He approached, towering over her. Ciri marveled at that for a moment. The lady had seemed tall before, that was, until Geralt stood before her. He dwarfed her. At any rate, he stood too close for comfort. His gaze lingered on her full chest, the fleshy rounded mounds pushed up by a fancy corset. A telling grin crept along his face. Ciri crushed his hand with a death-like grip. She frowned at the beautiful woman.

"Wendy," he dipped his head in a gentleman's polite greeting. "It's good to see you again. You look…"

She tugged his hand. Hard.

He cleared his throat. "What brings you here?"

The redhead dropped her lids and smirked in a feigned demure manner. She fluffed out her ringlets and took her time doing it. Geralt's eyes glittered. Ciri coughed.

"You are not one to butt his nose in other people's business," she drawled in a husky voice. Her gaze roamed over his face, traveled to his wide shoulders and then down his torso. "It's a shame really."

"Not butting into your business?"

Wendy smiled and her cheeks glowed in the lamplight. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his temple, then trailed painted fingertips down the side of his jaw.

The gesture implied a familiar intimacy Ciri did not appreciate. She narrowed her eyes, but no one paid attention to her.

"That I'm here for a client," Wendy clarified. "Otherwise, I'd be glad to take you."

The rain pelted against the stable. A jagged crack of thunder filled the space between their words.

Take him? Take him where? Ciri gasped, her blood pulsed in her temples closing her ears. She fired a hard glare at the woman, but it was lost. No one paid any attention to her. Tugging on his hand, she pulled on him. He didn't budge a bit. It was like trying to move a tree. "Geralt. I'm hungry."

He cleared his throat. "Right. Gotta get a room and ah… eat. Been a long day."

Wendy nodded and gazed down at Ciri. Her eyes, questioning, slid back up to Geralt's. "She's with you?"

"Yes."

Perfectly shaped eyebrows crinkled. "Well, in that case, good luck getting a room. Doubt there's any left available at this hour."

"You're not worried about that?"

She shook her head jouncing her ringlets. "No. My client already has one."

"Lucky man," Geralt drawled in a deeper voice than usual.

Ciri rolled her eyes and tugged on him again. "Come on, Geralt," she whined.

"Right. Maybe I'll see you again, sometime. Next I'm in the city."

"Looking forward to it." Wendy trailed her fingertips down the silver chain of his medallion and then clasped a silver buckle on his armor near it. She tugged on it, drawing Geralt a bit closer. Her voice became more sultry. "Very much looking forward to it. Goodbye, White One."

Biting her tongue, Ciri headed for the stable door hauling Geralt behind her with an outstretched arm. The blasted woman had to ruin everything. Geralt ogled her like a kid in a candy shop, practically salivating anticipating that candy. What did Wendy have that was so special?

The main square of the largest city in the northern kingdoms usually swarmed with people, but tonight, eerily void of bodies in the steady rain. An ear-splitting clap of thunder ricocheted off the tall brick buildings that surrounded the market square.

She clutched his gloved hand and pressed close to his side. "I'm cold, Geralt. And hungry."

"I know, Ciri. Me too."

The rain beat down in torrents, running off his hood, splashed his face. Glancing down at Ciri, her face was just as wet. Hurrying towards the Kingfisher Inn, he was not at all certain a room would be available tonight. Several groups of people huddled at the door impatient to get out of the storm.

After waiting several minutes to get to the door, Geralt pushed it open. The noise and smells typical of a tavern hit him full force. The warmth of the place was immediate and welcomed. His stomach rumbled at the wonderful aromas of roasted chicken, hearty soup, and beer.

Weaving through the throng of middle class patrons in the multi-level large space, he shouldered his way up to the bar. He dipped his head at the innkeeper, splattering a stream of water from his hood onto the counter.

"Need a room." With a ringing clink, he slapped down coin onto the bar. Squeezing in next to him, Ciri glued herself to his side.

A burly middle-aged and balding man, the innkeeper eyed him with narrowed lids. He wiped his hands on a soiled towel tucked in his apron pocket.

"Kindly remove your hood, sir. This is a decent establishment. I'd have a look at you first."

"Have a problem with… unruly customers lately?"

"I'll still have a look at ya."

Geralt huffed out a sigh and pushed back the soaked hood. Every person in the inn turned and glared at him. Of course, that was not entirely true, only a few nearby did, but to him, it seemed every eye in the joint turned upon him.

"A Witcher." The innkeeper uttered, surprise registering first, then his expression grew sour.

Among the din of many voices and off-key chords of lute strings getting tuned, whispers echoed the innkeeper's surprise and rippled in waves around him. News traveled fast.

Another chord struck. A performer prepared to give a performance on the stage that occupied one side of the chamber. Who was performing tonight? He shooed the thought away.

Ciri glanced around, gripped his hand tighter. He peeked down at her briefly.

The innkeeper's frown grew darker. "Like I said, this is a decent establishment, Witcher."

"Understood. You'll get no trouble from me. Need two hot meals and a hot bath."

The innkeeper snatched the towel from his apron pocket and wiped up the rainwater with quick annoyed swipes. "I don't know what you're up to, Witcher, but whatever you…" he cleared his throat and avoided Ciri's gaze. "Whatever you plan on doing with that innocent young lady will not be tolerated in this place, understand? You didn't go far enough. Crippling Kate's is on the port side of town. Should have kept goin'." He muttered that last statement, but Geralt caught it loud and clear.

Some patrons within earshot stopped chatting and stared at them. Most wore expressions of awkward disgust. Others avoided his gaze altogether preferring to inspect the contents in their tankards instead.

He knew precisely where the brothel was located, thank you very much. Passed it on their way to this inn as a matter of fact. He glanced down at Ciri and bit his tongue. It was clear what others thought. His eyes narrowed. He gripped Ciri's shoulder.

Eyeing her out of the corner of his eye, he turned an unfaltering gaze back on the innkeeper. "My… daughter and I need a place to stay." Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. She peered up at him wide eyed, then looked away, a frown wrinkled her dark brows. He couldn't take the time to ponder her expression at the moment. "You realize, that by refusing me hospitality, you are also denying it to a young girl. If you hadn't noticed, it's dark and storming outside. You seem to be a decent man, Innkeep." He was only partly successful at keeping the steel edge from his voice.

The innkeeper curled his lip. "Don't got one available."

Geralt swore beneath his breath. "Don't have an available room or don't want to give it to us?"

"Look around, Witcher. Busy place tonight. We have a special guest performing soon. Besides, the last available room was promised to our performer. So… no vacancy."

Ciri tugged on his hand. "Let's go, Geralt. I don't want to stay here anyway." She glanced around again.

Shit. Where was he supposed to find shelter tonight? Crippling Kate's was out of the question for obvious reasons. The Passiflora was too. Though located in the noble Gildorf District, the Passiflora was a glamorous brothel, but a brothel, nonetheless. The Golden Sturgeon near the harbor attracted sailors, deckhands, and other brutes. No place for a young lady.

Geralt shoved a few crowns toward the innkeeper. "At least let us eat."

He nodded reluctantly and left to fetch two dinners. When he returned, the food was packed up nicely in a burlap bag. The innkeeper leaned forward, spoke softly. "For the girl's sake stay in the stable tonight. At least you'd be dry."

Giving a curt nod, Geralt clamped his mouth shut and clutched the bag, but the man did not let go of it. The innkeeper peered long and hard at Ciri. She held his gaze steady, without wavering, then she hugged his side. He gave her arm another gentle squeeze. Good girl.

"So help me, Witcher…" The innkeeper warned in a threatening tone. "The young one is not your kid. No one will believe it anyway. I swear, if I hear anything... or someone reports anything-"

"Like I said," Geralt gritted through clenched teeth, "you'll get no trouble from me." He snatched the bag from the innkeeper's hand. "Let's go," he muttered to Ciri.

Grasping her hand, he led her across the main room, weaving between the throng. All the while, the glares of the locals bore into him as he passed. Accustomed to others' stares, he ignored them. To a point. Until it dawned on him they were not glaring at him because of his unusual characteristics. Clenching his teeth, he steered her to the door. He could not afford to start anything here now. They needed shelter for the night and might again in the near future as well. He had to stay on good terms with this place. Even if they were spending the night in the stable. It was better than nothing.

A knot wrenched his stomach. They truly believed the worst of him, of his kind? He was a witcher, not a whore-son, rapist, or pedophile. Ciri ran down the steps ahead of him, the rain beating off her cloak. He followed slowly, firing his disapproval at the patrons within eye shot with a hard glare, then exited.

He exhaled slowly. Her tendency for nightmares could prove a problem. He had to be careful around here.

At least they were dry in the stable. In the corner of Roach's oversized stall, Ciri lounged on a mound of hay. Propped up against the saddlebags for pillows, she braided three strips of leather she had found lying around. She was quiet tonight.

Bellies satisfied with roasted chicken and potatoes, Geralt tossed the bones to the resident dog. The mutt chewed on them content for a long while. He took a liking to Ciri and stayed within the stall, but would not get any closer. Thunder rumbled, but gone were the sharp cracks overhead that rattled everything. The downpour had settled to an even and steady rain.

Geralt smoothed his hand down Roach's foreleg. He lifted her hoof and swore under his breath. Working his way around, he inspected her other hooves. Dammit. That's why she was sluggish and stumbled often when they had entered the city.

"What's wrong, Geralt?"

He sat down next to her on the hay pile that was to be their bed for the night. "Roach threw two horseshoes." His voice grated in his own ears. "Which means, tomorrow we find a blacksmith and hope I have enough coin to buy new ones. But sleeping here tonight saved me some coin-"

"See, it was meant for us to sleep here tonight."

He smiled, but did not say anything for a moment. "Is that why you didn't want to stay in the inn?"

She was quiet while braiding and then shrugged. "Maybe." She tugged on the braid tightening a section. Her voice grew hushed. "Besides, they didn't have any rooms." She avoided his gaze, focused on the leather straps. "The way they glared at you… at us." Her voice was tight. "Why did they do that?"

"People jump to conclusions about things they know nothing about."

"What do you mean?"

He unbuckled his chest armor and shrugged out of it. He straightened his cotton tunic. "It's… uncommon for a young girl like you to be with a man like me."

"A man like… You mean a witcher?"

"Hmm-mmm."

"Why, because I'm a girl? I know girls don't become witchers, but that… that wasn't what the innkeeper was talking about, was it?"

He sighed, not sure how to explain. "I'll explain it someday."

"Tell me now, Geralt. Please. If you think I'm too young, I've been schooled, you know. By the most respected educators."

"Right," he grumbled. "Of course you would have. Well… witchers bring boys to learn the trade, not girls. And everyone knows that. So when they see you, they think I'm up to no good. They're judging me, Ciri, not you."

She thought about that a moment and he took a swig from a waterskin.

"They think you would do something to me?"

He opened a blanket and covered her legs. "It's late. Get some sleep."

She secured the leather braid at the ends and nestled down into the hay. She tugged up the blanket to her chest. "Why would they think that, Geralt? Because you're a witcher?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"I don't understand…"

"Someday you will. When you're old enough."

He settled next to her with his arms folded underneath his head. But he did not share her blanket. It was warm enough for him.

"They know nothing," she declared. "You wouldn't do anything to harm me."

"That's right, Ciri. I'd never harm you."

He stared at the wood beams connection the roof. A soft meow came from the far side of the stable. A cat too. Then again, this was a stable. Did she hear it?

"That doesn't bother you?" She peered at him, her eyes warm and… concerned. "That people seem to think bad of you just because you're a witcher? They don't know you."

He took a deep breath. He was about to say that it did not bother him, that he was an emotionless mutant, so why should it? He knew what kind of man he was. But he swallowed hard. Honestly, that was not the case. "Yeah," he whispered. "It does bother me. But I don't let it show."

"Because you're a witcher."

He caught his breath. Coming from her it seemed rather banal, as Yennefer would say, but… "Yeah." He stared at the ceiling again.

They were quiet for a few moments

.

"What did you make with the leather?" he asked softly.

"A headband."

He closed his eyes and grinned.

After a few moments, she whispered. "You told that innkeeper I was your daughter."

He didn't respond. Only opened his eyes and stared at the wooden beams again.

"Why, Geralt?" came her broken whisper.

He stayed quiet.

After a moment, she turned to face him. "Why? I'm not your daughter."

"I know. Thought it was the best way to protect you. To show them you mean something to me. That I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." Her emerald green eyes softened and a gleam appeared in them from the dim lamplight.

"When I said that to the innkeeper," he prodded, "you gave me a sharp look. What was that about?"

Her cheeks flamed redder than before, her eyes lost their sparkle. She stared at the ceiling too.

"It's about the daughter comment, isn't it?" he inquired.

She nodded.

"That upset you. I'm sorry."

She peered at him. "Don't worry about it. I just..." She did not offer anymore than that. With a

huff, she flopped back on her side facing the wall again and sighed.

"Who was she, Geralt?"

Her question, uttered so soft, yet he detected a hint of accusation. He glanced at her, but she faced the wall. "Who? The redhead?"

Silence.

"She's… an acquaintance."

A distant rumble filled the quietness.

"A girlfriend?"

Ah, he began to understand. "No," he replied softly thinking of Yennefer.

She turned onto her back and fired a stony glare at him. Cheeks flushed, eyes gleamed in a hard stare… He recalled another young princess who looked exactly like this. Her late mother, Princess Pavetta.

"You lie."

Her tone sharp, her accusation sliced through him. It hurt. A little. He sighed and met her gaze.

"No. Not lying, Ciri."

"You are. The way she looked at you… The way you looked at her…" her voice cracked and with a huff, she flopped on her side again, her back to him.

Geralt raised his brows and chuckled to himself. Someone was battling the green-eyed monster.

A few hours later, a soft click, and a wooden door creaked.

Geralt cracked open an eye and listened. Hushed whispers and female giggling sounded by the entrance. He glanced over at Ciri. Her back still to him, her breathing slow and steady. Good, she still slept. A furball of a kitten curled up at the small of her back. He glanced in the corner. The mutt was still there too.

He rose quietly and peeked over the stall door. And groaned. He swiped his hand over his tired eyes.

In the dim orange glow of a few oil lamps, long red ringlet curls bounced and swayed. Wendy's giggles grew louder. Arms and legs wrapped around a finely dressed man, she kissed the nobleman with a familiar vigor. He could not make out the man's features, for he buried his face in her breasts.

Just great. Like he needed this distraction in the middle of the night. What the hell were they doing in the stable? Wendy had mentioned her client had had a room.

The exuberant gentleman slammed Wendy against a wall in a fit of passion that shook the stalls. Both kitten and dog jumped. One hissed, jumped over the stall door and took off, the other was not quite as agile and ran in circles in the stall, yelping, startling Roach into a dance of fright. Fuck!

Geralt winced and glanced back at Ciri. The blanket lie crumpled up and the hay pile was empty. Shit. Ciri climbed up on the stall door next to him for a better view.

Grabbing fistfuls of Wendy's long locks, he then fondled plump breasts about to spill over her low neckline.

Clutching an overly curious eleven-year-old about the waist, Geralt plucked her from the door. Or rather attempted to. She had a death grip that turned her knuckles white. Finally, he managed to tear her away and set her on her feet. She stumbled and fell back into the hay. She glowered at him with a royal imperial tilt to her chin. He might have laughed had the situation been different.

The fellow's beret with a white feather fluttered to the floor. He kissed the redheaded beauty with a passion that rivaled the legends of only one man he knew of… The client raised his head and came up for air.

"Dandelion?" Geralt stared with disbelief when the gentleman turned towards him.

Upon recognition, he promptly dropped Wendy, with a grunt, to the hay-covered floor and adjusted his glaringly bright fanciful attire.

"Geralt? Well, I'll be! What are you doing here?"

He shot him an expression that said it all. He nodded. "Of course, it all makes sense now. You're the special guest minstrel who gave a performance. And who got the last room." He glanced at Wendy. She rose with wobbly legs and plucked hay stalks out of her curls. "And Wendy's client…"

Ciri peeked her head above the stall. "Hi there! What do you mean by 'her client?'"

Dandelion's jaw went slack and his face lost color. Geralt glanced at Ciri and a few tawny hay stalks stuck straight out of her hair too.

Geralt groaned. Of all the blasted luck!


	6. Chapter 6 - Novigrad Reunion Part 2

Summary:

Ready for some gritty Witcher action? Geralt has met up with an old friend, however, an innocent stay at an inn goes horribly wrong.

**Content Warning:** This chapter contains canon-typical graphic violence.

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Chapter Text **CHAPTER SIX** **Novigrad Reunion - Part 2**

Ciri faced him expecting an answer. "Well? What did you mean by 'Wendy's client'?"

"Get down from there and never you mind what I meant." Geralt plucked her from the stall door again and then opened it.

"Geralt! Ah, it's good to see you, my friend!" Dandelion reached for his arm and grasped it in an exuberant shake. The familiar scent of apple and cinnamon teased his nostrils. Dandelion's signature cologne. "To think, you here… In a stable." He chuckled and the bard's eyes slid to Ciri. "With a young… ah, very young lady."

Geralt, glad to see his good friend, rested his hand on Ciri's shoulder. Dandelion knew him well. He would not judge him like the others.

Ciri stood tall and straightened her shoulders. With a lift of her chin and hands on hips, her lips pursed in a regal expression. "I'm Ciri! I'm with Geralt. He's looking out for me."

Dandelion beamed in his usual charming way. "Well… you couldn't find a better protector." Snatching his beret complete with white feather from the floor, he moved smoothly into a low, dramatic, and formal bow. "It is my pleasure to meet you, fair maiden. One whose beauty is unmatched." With a show of chivalry, he reached for her delicate hand. Hovering over it, he pressed his lips in a butterfly kiss along her tiny grubby knuckles.

Cheeks glowed pink, Ciri stood even taller, grinning from ear to ear. Geralt could not help but do the same. Her smile lit up the stable.

"I, my fair lady, am Master Dandelion. Renowned poet, minstrel, and troubadour. And Geralt's best friend."

Ciri curtsied with the learned grace of a queen in return even though she wore a lambskin jacket and breeches instead of a fancy gown fit for a princess. But it clearly made no difference to her.

"The pleasure is all mine, Master Poet," she intoned with as much regal grace. Then she giggled.

Wendy cleared her throat quietly.

"Oh, right." Dandelion grasped Wendy's arm and pulled her aside. "My sweet peach, meet me in my room. I'll join you momentarily."

Her smudged lips pouted and she shook her mane of ringlet curls. "Oh, pooh, don't make me wait too long. I might fall asleep."

Dandelion pecked her on the tip of her nose with his lips. "Don't you dare. May the Goddess Melitele slay me shall I be too long."

Wendy shot both Geralt and Ciri a non-consequential glare and turned, her skirts twirled about shapely legs as she did so, and left.

"Geralt, what brings you to Novigrad? And how are you in possession of this lovely lady?"

The orange tiger-striped kitten, scared off before, had returned. Purring, she rubbed against Ciri's ankles. A well-timed distraction, Geralt took advantage and scooped her up. He placed the purring kitten in Ciri's arms. "Why don't you give this little one some attention since she likes you so much. Go lay down while I speak with the master poet."

"I'll stay here, thank you very much." The tilt of her chin displayed her seriousness. She meant to stay.

Dandelion chuckled softly.

"Ciri…" Although he did not want to, he resorted to the you-had-better-listen-to-me tone of voice.

She huffed. Facing Dandelion, she curtsied again. The bard bowed likewise with the same chivalric flavor as before. Stroking the kitten's fuzzy head, she made one last pleading look at Geralt and disappeared into the stall.

"You won't go far, will you, Geralt?"

"No. We'll be up front by the doors." He closed the door with a click and peered down at her over the half-door of the stall. She looked up at him with wide worried eyes, but settled down on the hay and snuggled with the kitten.

"Let's go up front." He motioned Dandelion to follow.

The two men stood quiet, listening to the thrumming of rain in the square. Neither wanted to speak first.

"Clearly much has happened. Fill me in, old friend."

Geralt breathed in deep. "Ciri…" He cleared his throat. "Your dramatic greeting was strangely appropriate. She... is the princess of Cintra. Actually, she's queen now. Calanthe perished in the massacre. Ciri's the sole living heir to a non-existent country now, thanks to Nilfgaard."

Dandelion let out a low whistle. "Whoa, she's royalty." He scratched his head then rubbed the back of his neck. "Everyone's heard about Nilfgaard overtaking Cintra. What a tragedy about Calanthe, though. She was a great queen." "

Yes," Geralt nodded. "And an equally great woman."

His friend eyed him. "Is that admiration in your voice? It was! I'll be… You liked her."

"She was good to me, Dandelion. I am saddened by her loss."

"So how did you end up with her granddaughter, then?"

"Stumbled upon her in Transriver, in Sodden. A merchant's wife had taken her in thinking she was a peasant girl, an orphan of war. The merchant had me follow him home after saving his life. He meant to reward me with his second-born son as payment. Then… You could imagine my surprise when I saw Ciri with his boys-"

"Hold on a minute," Dandelion held up his hand. "Is this… is she the child you claimed with the Law of Surprise before she was born all those years ago?" Geralt nodded. "Yeah. Eleven years ago."

"You renounced your claim didn't you?"

Geralt nodded. p"Yet you ended up with her anyway by some twist of fate." The bard chuckled, but there was a note of amazement in it. "So what are you going to do now?"

Geralt stared out into the dark square. Only a couple braziers managed to stay lit in the storm illuminating a few canopied vendor stalls. A daring individual stumbled his way across the square. The man pitched to the ground. A drunkard, gotta be.

"Taking her back to Kaer Morhen."

Dandelion stared at him. "Whoa, what? Geralt, have you thought this through?"

"Keep your voice down, will ya?" He pressed a thumb and forefinger to the corner of his eyes. "Where am I supposed to take her, Dandelion? Her home, her family... all gone. She has no one, nowhere to go."

Dandelion stayed quiet, but his blue eyes glittered.

"Spill it, Dandelion. Can see it in your eyes."

Looking a bit sheepish, he said smoothly, in a gentle voice, "Could've left her with the merchant."

Geralt shook his head. "The thought had crossed my mind, but no, I couldn't do that." He glanced back outside at how the raindrops splattered when they hit the street. "You didn't see the way she… threw herself at me... clung to me like I was the only thing in her world she could hold on to. I felt her pain, Dandelion. And her fear. Promised I'd never leave her. I did once, a year ago. No. I couldn't have left her there. Just couldn't."

Dandelion glanced out into the courtyard. Geralt's gaze followed. A guard had caught up with the drunk and tried to help him to his feet. Unsuccessfully.

"Ah, Geralt. You're a good man. She's very lucky to have you as a benefactor."

Luck? Was it as random as that? Or destiny, as Ciri claimed quite often? A destiny he created. One he put in motion by invoking the Law. Whatever it was, fate or not, she was his responsibility now. And he had to make decisions and figure out what was best for her.

"What are you going to do when you get her to Kaer Morhen?"

Geralt lifted a shoulder and sighed a deep heavy sigh. He had been asking himself the same question. More than once. "Train her. What else would we do?"

His friend's eyes opened wide. "You're going to make her a Witcher? A little girl? A queen... a royal Witcher? Why, that's absur-"

Geralt glared at him and he fell silent.

"No. Not a Witcher." He rubbed his eyes then smoothed a hand over his hair pulled back into a half-ponytail. "Couldn't subject her to the trials. And it's not like we've been doing them lately. But at least we can teach her basic self defense skills. And why not some sword work? She needs to defend herself. She'll learn survival skills, basic combat, improve her strength, develop stamina, and gain confidence. She'll learn how to track, and fend for herself. She'll become self-sufficient, Dandelion. That's the gift I can give her."

He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "Since I've found her, she's been terribly frightened. Enough so she has nightmares nightly. She wakes screaming for dear life. It's… To hear what she has gone through, Dandelion. It'll tear you up."

The bard held his gaze with sympathetic blue eyes. "All right, Geralt. You make great points there. Those are important skills to learn. But have you thought about the fact you're bringing a young girl home to an isolated castle? Only you guys live there. There are no women at Kaer Morhen. What about her need for female companionship? Are you guys equipped to handle the needs of a budding young lady? What about her continued education?"

Geralt was about to say his friend was overreacting, but knew better. Dandelion's arguments were just ones. Dammit, he had thought about those things, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Drop her off at Yennefer's home in Vengerberg? Oh, the sorceress would appreciate that. It wasn't like he could enlist her in the Redanian army.

"Geralt." Dandelion gripped his shoulder. "You're in a position that has no easy and obvious answers. If you feel taking her home is the best thing for her, then by all means, do it. If there's anything I can help with, I will-"

"She'll be safe there."

"You're right. That's important."

"There's more."

"What? What do you mean?" Dandelion raked his fingers through his brown hair.

Geralt dropped his voice even more to barely above a whisper. "Someone is following us."

"What? Are you sure?" Dandelion turned and took a step toward the door then halted. "Look who I'm asking… Of course you are. Do you know who?"

"Haven't seen him yet, but, I bet it's the-"

A piercing high-pitched scream rattled the stable and their ears. Dandelion jumped, his fingers plugged his ears.

"Dammit! Not here, not now!"

Geralt flew to the stall and crashed it open. The kitten hissed and ran out between his legs. Ciri thrashed about on the hay screeching at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her cheeks. Roach whinnied, anxious, dancing in place. He cast the Axii Sign and calmed the horse. He dropped to his knees next to Ciri and gripped her shoulders.

"Ciri! Wake up. Sssshhh. Wake up. You're dreaming." He shook her gently.

Dandelion entered the stall, his face white as bed sheets. "By the Gods! Quiet her Geralt, or she'll have the whole city upon us!"

"I know, Dandelion!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Gerrrrraaaaalt!" she screeched.

He cradled her against his chest and brushed back her ashen hair from wet cheeks. "Ssshhh. I'm here, Ciri. It's okay. Just another bad dream."

She turned her face into his shirt and sobbed. Dandelion squatted down next to them. "She gonna be okay?"

At the realization the master poet was there, she choked back her sobs and buried her face deeper in his chest.

"Was it the Black Knight again?" Geralt whispered.

She shook her head and sniffled. Her tears wet his shirt.

"Black Knight?" Dandelion inquired.

"I'll explain later."

He rocked her back and forth. "Then what was it this time?"

A fist scrunched his tunic. She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes red and swollen. "It's not safe here, Geralt. They'll take you away! Please don't leave me. Please don't go!"

"Ssshhh. Calm down, Witcher-girl. I'm not going anywhere."

"They'll take you!" she sobbed.

He looked at Dandelion and shrugged. This was something new. Usually it was the Nilfgaardian knight that appeared in her dreams.

"Ssshhh. Everything will be all right. Try to calm down."

A ring of steel sent shivers down Geralt's back. Dammit, it was too late! Why didn't he hear them coming? Both men turned toward the stall door. An uncomfortably close tip of a long sword pointed at them glinted in the lamplight.

"Don't either of you make a move."

The man pointing the sword was a burly scruffy man in his forties, and dressed in the uniform armor and colors of the city guard.

"You." The sword's tip indicated Geralt. "Move away from the girl. Now!" The guard's voice was deep and commanding.

Geralt gently pushed Ciri away from him. She clutched his arms. "No! Geralt! Don't go!"

"Quiet, Ciri. It's okay," he whispered for her ears alone.

With his eyes fixed on the guard, he held up his hands and slowly rose, stepping back. His swords were propped in the corner by the stall door. No way he could get to them and avoid confrontation.

"This is all a simple misunderstanding-"

"Did I say you could talk? Shut up, mutant! You." The sword point slid to Dandelion. "You, Poet. Up against the wall and don't move. Do as I say! Now!"

Hands raised, Dandelion did as instructed.

Ciri, with hair disheveled and tear-streaked cheeks, looked helpless at both him and his friend. Oh, this wasn't good. Shit! Geralt swore under his breath. Why was this all going wrong?

The guard called out. "Innkeep! Get the girl out of here."

The balding innkeeper scuttled between the guards and into the stall. His gaze landed on him and hardened. Then he turned to Ciri. "Come, child." He held out a hand to her. "Come with me. You'll be all right."

"NO!" she yelled shrinking back away from him. "I was fine before you all showed up!"

"Listen to the man," the guard advised. "If you want these men to live, you will go with the innkeeper. Now."

With wide eyes full of fear, Ciri looked to him. Her eyes pleaded for guidance. He had to think about her safety first. He nodded. "Go with the innkeeper, Ciri. You'll be safe. I'll come for you once this gets straightened out. I promise."

Shaking her head, her chin quivered. Biting her lips, she rose. Refusing the innkeeper's hand, she walked out of the stall on her own.

Good girl.

He gave the innkeeper a stony glare, a hard one, full of promise. The man blanched ever so slightly and left the stall behind Ciri.

Dandelion spoke, breaking the tense silence. "This really is not what you think, my good Sir. The girl belongs to this man."

"I don't think you understand me, Poet. When I say you can talk, talk. But not until then!"

The guard nodded to two other guards behind him and they entered the stall. Bearing shackles, a mountain of a man snapped them over Geralt's wrists. The fellow was not tall. Geralt stood a few inches taller than him, but with his barrel chest and thick arms and legs, he was not one to underestimate. The thick man took another set of shackles, hooked it around the set on Geralt, and then snapped one closed around his own wrist. Just great. Geralt grimaced. He was shackled to the fucking guard.

Both Dandelion's wrists were cuffed, but not bound to a guard. The captain snatched Geralt's swords.

"You two are under arrest for endangering the well-being of a child."

Geralt curled his lip, shaking his head.

"Move it, dog!" The heavy set guard shoved him proving the man's size was not all fat. He stumbled forward, but regained his footing.

Escorted out of the stable and into the storm, the dampness chilled and he shivered. The rain pelted him gluing his shirt to his torso. Dandelion's colorful fluffy attire withered before his eyes.

Hair plastered against his neck, Geralt's gaze caught a glimpse of ashen hair, inside the door of the Kingfisher Inn. Some guests then blocked his view and he fixed his gaze willing them to move aside. As people moved, the firelight glowed a halo on top of her fair head. She made eye-contact, stared wide-eyed, her eyes glazed over with worry and fear. Her mouth formed a word, though uttered no sound. Someone stepped in front of her again.

Her fear was palpable. Overwhelming fear. It wrenched his gut and clamped his heart so it became difficult to breathe. The guard shoved him again from behind. He almost face-planted on the cobblestones were it not for the shackles.

The person moved and Ciri was gone.

His stomach twisted in uncomfortable knots. He had promised never to leave her. What would she do without him? She'd be terrified beyond measure. Though the situation was out of his control, it did not matter. He was leaving her. And it killed him to do it.

I promise, Ciri. I'll come back for you.

He could not let them take him to the authorities. Ciri needed him and he must get back to her. Patient, Geralt bided his time, observed the guards on patrol and at posts. The farther away from the inn, the better and safer for her.

The captain, behind him and to the right, carried his sword belt. Dandelion was also behind him. The beast of the guard would not be easy to bring down quick. Especially shackled to him. They turned down a dark and narrow side street. No one was around.

Now was the time.

With a twist of his hips, Geralt jammed his knee in the giant's groin. When he grunted and bent over, Geralt clasped both hands together and with an upswing, slammed his fists into the guard's nose. Blood spurted everywhere. The guard dropped to one knee, crying out.

"Dandelion!" Geralt encouraged.

Spurred into action, the bard turned and jacked his knee into his guard's groin, but the man was ready for it and jumped backwards. No contact made. Surprised, Dandelion stumbled, then stood there, jaw slack, not sure what to do.

"Run!" Geralt bellowed.

Without a second thought, Dandelion took off passed him down the street. When his guard sprinted after him, Geralt stuck out his leg at the right moment. He clipped the guard's ankle, pitching him to the ground face first. He slammed his booted foot on the back of the guard's neck. Satisfied at the crunching of bones, he turned and hammered his knee into the face of his oversized guard. Blood showered all over him. The beast spit out a few teeth and collapsed on the ground. He didn't move after that.

Forced to bend over him, Geralt swore. If only he could get out of these cursed shackles!

"You think you're so smart, dog." The captain sauntered up to him. A sickening smile crept along his drenched face. "You're still shackled and I have your weapons. Sure, you let your friend get away. But you're still mine."

Bending over, hands on knees, Geralt glowered up at the captain. His hair hung in a dripping curtain over his shoulders. Rain pelted him, running into his nose and eyes. The captain's arrogant confidence disgusted him. "Have something to say to you," he hissed.

"Oh, the mutant has something to say." He spat at the ground. The spittle landed at his feet in the swirl of rainwater.

Although shackled, Geralt could still move his fingers. He drew the Axii Sign in the air and cast the persuasion spell. "Unbind me. I've done nothing wrong. Give me my swords and go home."

Groggy, the captain shook his head as if waking from a deep sleep. Fumbling for the keys, he found the right one, and unlocked the cuffs. The shackles fell off his wrists.

He retrieved his sword belt and buckled them on his back. He swiped water from his eyes and added, "You don't remember what happened here. Leave now."

The captain nodded. "Right… What was I doing? I need to go home…" He headed down the street.

Turning, Geralt stepped over the comatose guard and headed back for the inn. Dandelion would have done the same. He'd protect Ciri until he returned.

Keeping to the shadows, he slinked between buildings and dark alleys like an agile acrobat, climbing and jumping over all obstacles in his path. He prowled through the dark streets not making a sound, staying out of sight.

Approaching near the Kingfisher Inn, he plastered his back against the wall of an adjacent building. The firelight shone from the windows of the Inn. He halted, and cursed inwardly. The inn swarmed with Witch-Hunters. Shit! He ducked back behind a wooden post.

Dandelion probably did not make his presence known. At any rate, he couldn't count on him. Ciri was a prisoner and must be scared out of her mind. His chest armor, elixirs, and healing potions were in the stable, however, the entrance was guarded also. But he had his swords and they were all he needed.

Scanning the Witch-Hunters, two of the five carried crossbows. Breathing in through his nose, he focused, calmed himself, slowing his heart rate. He'd have to fight without his potions. Not the first time, and wouldn't be the last. He just had to be extra careful. Dammit it though, a crossbow would come in handy right now. He could pick them off one by one from here.

A faint and familiar high-pitched cry reached his ears. Ciri!

Teeth clenched, he crouched down and scurried silently across the cobblestones, the rain battered his eyes.

Sneaking up behind the hunter posted at the stable door, he reached around and grasped his chin. With one swift jerk of his wrist, he snapped the man's neck. The body slumped to the ground and the crossbow clattered next to him. He snatched it up, aimed, and fired at the other hunter that carried a crossbow. He went down gurgling, his hand grasped his neck. The bolt protruded from his throat.

The remaining three hunters sprang into action, swords raised. Geralt fumbled fitting another bolt into place. The rain made it too slick. He lost precious time and the hunters closed in on him. They spread out in a semi-circle around him.

He chucked the crossbow to the cobblestones with a ringing clank. It skidded towards the stable. He slid his steel blade from its sheath with a ringing hiss and raised it before him diagonally in a fighting stance. The raindrops tapped on the blade in high pitched tinkling sounds, spraying water in all directions. His gaze flitted between the three hunters, waiting, anticipating the first attack. Crouching to the ground, he sank the fingertips of his free hand into the frigid standing water on the street.

The three hunters lunged at him at once. Anticipating this, his hand wet with water, shot the Aard Sign toward them. The magical force field mushroomed from his hand and cracked and thundered about him, ricocheted off the buildings. The added moisture charged the shock wave giving it an extra punch. The explosion, as loud as the thunder was earlier, picked up the three Witch-Hunters and pitched them backwards several yards. One hunter crashed through a vendor stall, sending wood shards flying in all directions. Another slammed against the brick wall of the inn, his breath knocked out of him. The last hunter plummeted, and landed hard in a puddle on the cobblestones. All three staggered to their feet like drunkards. However, they proved resilient. They regrouped in less time than he expected.

They attempted to surround him again. The one to the far left lunged at him. Geralt slammed his sword down on top of the hunter's blade, knocking it off balance with the strength of his blow. Before the hunter could regain balance, he turned with his hips and sliced his steel down in an arc that severed the hunter's head from his shoulders in one clean swipe. The body crumbled to the ground. Blood spewed and ran a swirling trail on the cobblestones mixed with the rainwater. The head rolled and stopped in a mud puddle a few feet away.

Whirling around, Geralt parried the blow from the middle hunter with a loud metallic clang. Batting the hunter's sword arm away from him, he took advantage of the opening and stuck the hunter in the gut. His blade slid through leather, clothing, and flesh with ease. The man's eyes bulged. A stream of blood gushed from pale lips. Sensing life departed, he yanked out his sword before it went down with the body.

Blade dripping red, he turned and fixed his attention on the last Witch-Hunter. The foe assumed a fighting stance. Geralt bared his teeth. "Come on!" he growled. "Let's get this over with!"

The hunter lunged for him and he side-stepped him easily. He whacked him on the back of the head with his blade like a club as he passed by. The hunter grunted and stumbled forward clutching the back of his scalp with his free hand. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered with blood. Blanching, the hunter clamped his mouth shut and found his balance again. He whirled, and swung at him, arcing the sword from the side.

With a flick of his wrist, Geralt deflected the blow like child's play. The sharp ring of metal against metal echoed loud in the empty square. In a flurry of movement, their blades clanged and hissed in a rapid succession of blows and parries. The rain pommeled them, water sprayed from their weapons, barraging them in their eyes. Neither opponent took the precious time to swipe away the water. A piercing white flash lit up the square and hurt the eyes. A ground-shaking crack of thunder followed.

Their swords met in the middle with an angry metallic whine. His hair, although tied back into a half ponytail, loose hair clung to his face and lips. His clothing stuck to him like a second skin, hampering his movements.

With blades-crossed, Geralt fought the sense of urgency building within him. If he did not tamper that now, it would get the better of him. He would get sloppy, make mistakes. He must stay clear headed.

Another brilliant flash of lightning startled the Witch-Hunter and Geralt took advantage of the distraction. With a quick, but powerful thrust of his sword, he clocked the hunter's sword arm away giving him the opening he needed. With a blindingly fast downswing, Geralt filleted the hunter from collarbone to hipbone. The hunter dropped his sword with a rattling clank. Eyes wide, he glanced down at his torso and his innards spilling into the street. He croaked something, then crumbled to the slick cobblestones.

Geralt dashed through the inn's door. It was late and most of the guests had retired for the night. The remaining few were too drunk or too lazy to leave so they slumped over tables or in corners snoring loudly. The conscious ones just peered at him bleary-eyed without a care.

No one was behind the bar. Perhaps the innkeeper went home. Geralt headed for the stairs. Where would he have taken Ciri? All the rooms were taken. He halted. Maybe back in the kitchen? Storage area, or basement? To his home? Where the hell did the innkeeper live?

Ciri, where are you?" he cried inside though he did not make a sound.

Closing his eyes, he focused his thoughts, his ears, his sense of smell. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he took it all in. So many scents, pleasant and unpleasant. Beer mostly, strong body odor, varied colognes and perfumes. Vomit, urine... he grimaced. Took a step toward the back of the inn. Apple, and... cinnamon.

"Dandelion?" he whispered.

He opened the door to a pantry. Dandelion, at first startled, practically collapsed with relief.

"Geralt! Thank Melitele you're back! I snuck in here through the back door when I noticed the place was covered with Witch-Hunters." He gave him a glance-over. "You look like hell."

Sighing irritably, Geralt grabbed his friend and yanked him out of the closet. "Have you seen Ciri?"

"Yeah, she's with the innkeeper. He took her back out that way."

"You mean, she's not here?"

An angry rumble of thunder rolled about overhead.

"Calm down now, Geralt. He probably took her home. The man's not a rogue. I mean, I think he was just looking out for her."

He sheathed his sword and wiped his eyes. "Yeah, I get it," he growled. "Why the fuck would an innocent young girl be with a morally deprived Witcher? Like it was the worst thing in the world to be with me?"

Dandelion blanched and his gaze softened. "Hey, I didn't mean... I know you, Geralt. I know the kind of man you are. But not everyone does. You're a dangerous man, everyone knows that-"

"Shut it, okay? I've heard enough. I just want Ciri back. It's time to find out where this innkeeper lives."

"Right. I'm going with you, friend. Geralt, what is it?" Dandelion gazed at him, concern laced his eyes.

"It's not safe here. They'll take you away." She had said that... No, dreamed it, mere moments before it all happened.

He glanced at Dandelion.

Was she a seer too? Just what kind of magic did she possess?

He stepped out the back door. Something told him she was no ordinary girl. Even more so, how could an innocent stay at an inn go so terribly wrong? He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He's a wanted man again now. Refused arrest and killed a couple guards. Even worse, he killed five Witch-Hunters on top of it. The Church of Eternal Fire would never let that go.

He had to find Ciri and get out of this city before dawn.


	7. Chapter 7 - Novigrad Reunion Part 3

Summary:

6-22-19 Apologies for the broken chapter - I've re-uploaded it.

Gritty Witcher action continues in the third part of _Novigrad Reunion_. Geralt has met up with an old friend, however, an innocent stay at an inn goes horribly wrong.

**CONTENT WARNING** This chapter contains canon-typical _attempted rape_ and graphic violence.

Please do not let the warning of this chapter scare you away. I took great care in writing this scene. I do not wish to make anyone uncomfortable. See notes at the beginning of this chapter why I felt this sensitive subject matter is integral to Ciri's story.

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Notes:

I am not a fan of rape scenes and my intent was not to offend anyone. I realize this is a sensitive subject for many. This scene was not added in a gratuitous manner or for the shock value, but this is really canon-typical and those who have read Sapkowski's Book Saga, will understand that attempted rape was performed on Ciri a few times.

My goal in this chapter was to clearly define an occurrence to highlight Ciri's fighting spirit, her fear of being alone, and the beginnings of the distrust she has for men that makes it very difficult for her to become intimately involved with them when she matures. It also made her trust and love for Geralt even more meaningful which will have strong implications in future chapters.

If you have read this far, I am ever so grateful and thankful!

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

 ** _Novigrad Reunion - Part 3_**

"Take me back now!" Ciri commanded with an accompanying stomp of her lambskin booted foot. She did not pay attention that the rainwater spattered over her ankles. Her hair plastered to her face and the dampness seeped through her jacket.

The innkeeper's hand gripped her upper arm, a bit too hard, and dragged her down the street. Digging in her heels, she skidded across the cobblestones and made it difficult for him.

He scowled and swiped a palm across his forehead. "You're better off without him. Why do you want to be with him, a Witcher of all people? You'll be safe, I promise."

"I was perfectly safe with him!" Her fingers, slick with water, tried to pry his hand from her arm. Why did he insist she was not safe with Geralt?

"You came willingly before. Why are you fighting me now?" Sighing, the owner of the Kingfisher Inn hauled her to a stop before a brick house. He held open the door for her.

She ground in her heels like planting roots in the street. She crossed her arms and glared at the man.

"You're getting wet. Go on inside." He nodded towards the door.

"Do you know who I am?" She changed tactics. Her voice, calm, and imperial, would have made her grandmamma proud. "I order you to return me to the Witcher this instant!" She made sure she followed that command with an equally stately lift of her chin.

It didn't work. He did not move or say anything, and certainly did not know who she was. But, it had always worked for her grandmamma. Her chin lost its lofty air.

A middle-aged woman appeared at the door wearing a ruffled and wrinkled nightdress and matching slippers. Groggy, she stifled a yawn. Strands of squiggly dark tresses poked out from underneath a nightcap. "What the devil's all this racket?"

The innkeeper grasped Ciri's arm and pain shot down her elbow. She cried out, and he shoved her into the house. She rewarded him with a solid kick to the shin. No one had ever handled her in a such disrespectful manner before.

"Holy Melitele!" the wife cried, wide-eyed and now awake. She stared at her husband while he groaned and hobbled on one leg.

Twisting from his grasp, Ciri kneed him in the crotch and took off out of the house toppling over a plant just outside the door in the process. Sprinting down the street, the frigid rain pelted her face. She couldn't recall which direction they had taken. She only remembered a few turns. Darkness and the incessant downpour confused and disoriented her. Not familiar with this city, she had no idea where she was or in what vicinity was the inn.

 _Geralt, where are you?!_

Breathing hard, her stomach clenched and a rush of energy spurred her forward. She was alone again! What was she to do? Where to go?

Forcing herself to breathe in deep, she focused on thinking clearly. She had been alone before. _Breathe…_

She did not want to be alone again! Although horrific and terrifying, she had managed back then, when she had escaped from the Black Knight. For weeks she survived on her own until she stumbled upon that nice family with two sons.

 _Breathe in…_ So now, she had to manage again and get back to Geralt. Her stomach churned. What if she could not find him? They took him away, just like she had dreamed mere moments before it happened.

She continued in the direction from whence the innkeeper had brought her. Just so long as she kept moving. And didn't panic. If she could get back to the stable, she'd be safe and dry. There she could hide and think.

She turned down a dark alley and stopped. Tall buildings on either side of the narrow passage did not let any light through. But there was not much light anyway unless lightning flashed, which it did from time to time. Still, no need to take unnecessary chances. She should stay on the main road.

Turning back down the cobblestone street, she stopped short. A gritty grimy man with a black patch over one eye blocked her path. She gasped, taking back a step. A strong stench of stale beer and piss emanated from him. Another scent she could not place, musky and distinct, not sure it was unpleasant or not, but definitely in the realms of body odor and quite unfamiliar. Oddly reminded her of the sea. Ciri backed away more.

The man clutched her arm and hauled her up against him. Colliding with his chest, she stood on tiptoes to relieve the pain in her elbow. She wanted to cry out, but did not. She pulled away to no avail.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

"Let me go!" She ground out through clenched teeth.

"You're a little young to be out wandering the streets alone at this time of night, eh?"

His accent, thick like a sailor, eyes, dark as night, raked over her and took too much interest in her chest. Her skin crawled, eliciting a chill that raced down her spine. Grimacing, she tried twisting from his grasp, but the burn was too much.

"Just how old are you anyways?" He chuckled in a slow knowing manner that raised the hair on the back of her neck.

"Please…" She scraped the words through a constricted throat. "I'm with a Witcher. He'd kill you in an instant."

For a split second, fear flashed in his eye, but amusement was quick to follow. "Is that so, eh? Don't see no Witcher around."

He hoisted her off her feet by her arm and crushed her to his chest with as little effort as if he carried a ragdoll. Swaggering deeper into the blackness of the alley, his other hand shoved open her jacket.

"See, miss, been at sea for… a long time and… well, a man has needs. Hmmm. A woman would be preferable, but you'll do in a pinch. You must'a came from Cripplin' Kate's."

A large rough hand explored her chest. She squirmed, and heat rushed to her cheeks. His fingers lingered over her small buds, tender in growth, crushed under his demanding touch. Her teeth ground against each other, her stomach twisted in knots. How dare he! No one had ever touched her in this manner! And no one ever would again.

He grunted, squeezed her breast, and snorted. Her cheeks flamed. Damn him! She kneed him in the groin, or rather, attempted it, but her closeness did not allow her the force she would have rather used. So she spit in his face instead.

"Oh, a feisty one, are ya?" He wiped the spittle from his nose. "You ain't no woman, but I like 'em with fire."

Chuckling, he set her on the ground roughly and she staggered. She did not have enough time to regain balance before he whipped her around so her back was to him and bent her over the top of a dirty crate. Its edge was rough and sharp. A large fist twisted her soaking tresses back into a hand hold that prevented any movement. She couldn't move her head at all.

What did this man want? What was he going to do? Teeth chattering, she forced down rising bile in her throat, but it choked her. He strained her neck backwards.

A knee forced her legs open wide. The weight of him crushed her, pinned her to the crate. A buckle jingled and the soft swoosh of leather laces plucked open dried out her mouth. Unable to cry out, she squirmed, but it was no use. He was too heavy.

 _Geralt! I need you!_

A fist gripped the back of the waistband of her pants. A swift yank ripped seams and they dropped over her backside. Cold air chilled her between her legs. A heart-stopping wave of panic paralyzed her. Her fingers crawled over the top of the crate, seeking a rock, a wood piece, or anything to use against him. Nothing! Nothing but dirt and silky spider webs tangled her fingers.

His full weight crushed her into the splintered wood. It bit her lower belly. She cried out.

"Don't you worry, miss. I reckon you'll be real tight, so it'll be quick. The less you squirm, the less painful for ya. Just relax."

An intrusive finger probed slowly where it had no business and she gasped. Tears spilled over her lashes and she bit her lips until the rusty taste of blood tinged her tongue. Her knotted stomach turned into a thick wave of nausea. How could a man treat her so? Like she was a piece of property or an object a man could just do with whatever he wanted whenever he wanted? She did not want this, did not ask for this… Maybe she could vomit, that would turn him off… wouldn't it?

She swung her arm behind her in an effort to clobber him. Her fist met nothing but air. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it behind her back. She groaned at the stabbing pain in her shoulder.

"Geralt…" she whimpered in a choking sob. It was the only sound she could utter. He tugged on hair craning her neck backwards. She vowed this would never happen again. No man would ever violate her, even touch her. He would die before he managed.

"Who's Geralt?" he rasped, his beer tainted breath, too close to her ear, gagged her. "Your boyfriend?" he sneered with an ugly chuckle. "Or your daddy?"

He emphasized that last comment with a thrust of his hips hard against her bottom. The crate's rough edge pinched deeper into her lower belly. She stifled a cry.

"A Witcher." A deep harsh and commanding voice broke no argument and teemed with warning came from the entrance of the alley.

Ciri's heart stopped at the sound of the familiar velvety voice she had grown to love. Relief flooded her, made her light headed. Glancing toward the street, the tall imposing figure of a white-haired man with the hilts of two swords protruding over a shoulder stood silhouetted at the entrance of the alley. What little light emanated from the street shone on his hair and shoulders, glinted off the steel accents of the sword hilts. His face was lost in shadow.

 _He found me!_ She focused on breathing. _Geralt was here, he'd make everything right!_

In three long strides, Geralt was at the sailor's side and slugged him solidly across the face. The blow jarred the sailor and he careened to the side almost taking her with him.

Freed from his weight, she could breathe again. She quick tugged up her pants. But now they were ruined and could fall off.

After a deep thud, the sailor grunted behind her. "Get off me, mutant!"

Another smack followed by a groan.

"In the habit of assaulting young girls, scum?"

A scuffle, loud and fast-paced erupted behind her. Ciri straightened up, her abdomen bruised and bitingly sore. Holding an arm across her belly, she hopped onto the crate avoiding the scuffle.

The metallic ring of steel sang in the darkness. It was darker than the black of night in the alley and only the pure whiteness of Geralt's hair glinted in the minimal light gave clue to his whereabouts. He did not have any trouble making contact with the sailor's sword, by the sound of it. It was as if he could see perfectly fine in the dark. Probably wasn't so for the sailor, on the other hand.

The ring and hiss of metal scraping on metal grated her ears. Heavy breathing, grunts and growls accompanied the metallic song. Lightning lit up the alley in a rally of rapid flashes enough to reveal sailor and Witcher in a struggle of brute strength, their blades criss-crossed in the middle. The sailor was bulky, but Geralt, leaner and athletic, stood taller. The Witcher kicked the sailor in the thigh shoving him backwards.

"Ciri! Get out of here!" He hissed. With ringing clangs, he parried another succession of frenzied blows.

"No!" she cried scurrying back on the crate until she could go no further. The solid cold brick wall of the building prevented it. "I won't leave you!" _I don't want to be alone again!_

Within that split second of distraction, the sailor landed a fist squarely across Geralt's jaw with a resounding smack. She sucked in her breath when his head snapped in the direction of the blow. Going with the momentum, Geralt spun in a pirouette and surprised the sailor with a heavy blow of steel. Barely able to parry it, the sailor stumbled backwards until he flattened up against the side of the building.

"Dammit, Ciri! Get out of here, NOW!"

The time it took to command her to leave was enough for another fist to meet his jaw. Geralt's soaking wet hair flailed in a fan, splattering a trail of water everywhere. With a growl, he stumbled back. Lifting his sword in a parry, he deflected the incoming whirl of the blade from slicing off his head.

"Geralt!"

Ciri snapped her attention to the male voice that came from the street. Dandelion, clothes wrinkled and plastered to his form, hair a right mess, and beret sagged covered half of his face. He approached the alley and called again in a fierce whisper.

"Witch-Hunters coming!"

Geralt spat an oath and swung again. His blade landed hard against the sailor's and scraped it along its length. While holding his sword captive, he whipped out a dagger from his belt and plunged it deep into the sailor's lower belly.

Satisfaction alighted in Ciri, the pleasure at witnessing the demise of the scumbag brought pure delight. And it was Geralt who fulfilled it. Her protector, her destiny.

Sheathing both blades, Geralt rushed to her, scooped her off the crate, and took off at a breakneck speed deeper into the dark alley. She circled his neck with her arms, wrapped her legs around his waist, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and held on tight. Whatever would happen next, everything would be all right. Geralt had her. She was with him and everything would be okay.

Dandelion followed at a much slower pace. His silky shoes slipped on the wet ground.

Heavily armored feet of the Witch-Hunters echoed down the alley. Geralt crouched behind some stacked crates and barrels and motioned for Dandelion to follow suit. Ciri buried her face in Geralt's wet hair and held her breath. None of them made a sound.

The Witch-Hunters came part of the way down the alley, but didn't see the need to go any farther and turned back. They must not have seen the sailor's corpse.

They waited until they could no longer hear their footsteps before venturing out from their hiding spot.

"How do we get back to the stable without being seen?" Dandelion whispered.

"We keep going down this alley. I passed through here earlier tonight. We're not far."

Ciri shivered, her teeth chattered uncontrollably. A powerful cold gripped her. Like no cold she had remembered. She quivered again and could not stop.

Geralt's hand smoothed up her back and pressed her closer. Safe. She was safe in his arms. She breathed out, deeply comforted simply being with him. Tightening her arms around him, she clung to him. She would always be safe with Geralt.

"We gotta get you warm," he murmured. "You're freezing. Come on, Dandelion. Follow me and stay quiet."

In the quietness of the stable, methodically, he did it. First, he laid the blanket over Roach's back, then came the saddle, and the straps buckled. He checked tension and adjusted accordingly. He went through the motions by force of habit, his thoughts tumbling over themselves, far from the task at hand.

An occasional shake of a horse's mane in a nearby stall and the spitting of the fire in the grates were the only sounds. Re-adjusting the straps, he glanced over Roach's back at Ciri. She lay wrapped in a wool blanket, her head rested on Dandelion's lap. He lounged propped up against the corner of the stall. She had dozed off not long before. His friend, unusually quiet, stroked her drying hair away from her face.

Geralt crouched down before them. Ciri still quaked even in her sleep.

Dandelion wiped his bloodshot eyes. "Think she'll be all right?"

His throat tightened, recalling how close the sailor had come to… He cleared his throat. "Hard to say. She's been through too much already and now… this. For fuck's sake, Dandelion… if I was thirty seconds later…"

"I know. You saved her just in time. She's still shivering."

He laid a hand on the blanket. "Wish I had gotten to her sooner. We need to get her out of those wet clothes. But we've gotta get out of here fast-Someone's coming."

He rose and poked his head over the stall door. At the sight of long red ringlet curls, he relaxed. Turning, he glanced at his friend. "It's Wendy."

"There you are!" Sharp brown eyes flashed and she opened the stall door.

Both men gestured for her to keep quiet.

"Dandelion," she hissed. "Where have you been? Did you forget about me?" Her curls bounced with an angry shake of her head.

"I'm sorry, Wendy. Truly am. This night had not turned out the way we planned it."

Geralt sighed. "It was not his fault, Wendy. But we are in some trouble, Dandelion included."

"What-?"

"Can't explain. But we need to get out of here now. The longer we tarry, the more risk we take."

Silence thick as the wool blanket that covered Ciri, settled in the stable. Geralt wiped his burning eyes. "Shit. Roach threw two horseshoes on the way into this cursed city. She can't travel fast or far without them. I was going to go to a blacksmith tomorrow to take care of that."

"Right," Dandelion spoke up. "Can't do that here now. But… there is a village just outside the city. Maybe there you-"

"What direction are you headed?" Wendy interjected in hushed tones.

Geralt hesitated. The less she knew the better.

"Don't go to Arette." She did not bother to wait for his answer that did not come anyway. "It's still too close if you are in that kind of trouble. Instead, keep heading northeast a ways to Yantra. It's a small village, but they have a blacksmith there. His name's Bjorn. Tell him I sent ya and I insist he takes care of ya. And he will. You have my word."

Geralt stared at Wendy. Her eyes were kind and sincere. But still...

"Trust me, please. I would only do this for you two. And you have my word I'll not say anythin'."

Geralt nodded in that gentlemanly way. "Someday I'll repay you for your kindness. You had better leave now and lay low for awhile."

Wendy nodded and looked to his friend.

Dandelion slowly lifted Ciri's head from his lap and snuck away without disturbing her. He followed Wendy toward the doors.

Geralt intercepted him with a hand on his arm. "I hope you plan on… ah," he cleared his throat. "Even though you didn't-"

"You have that low of an opinion of me, my friend?"

"Not at all-"

"Relax, Geralt. I take care of my ladies same as you."

He nodded and let him go to Wendy.

Their voices low and hushed, Geralt secured the saddlebags to the saddle. Then he donned his leather jerkin and buckled many buckles, and tugged on leather silver-studded gloves. He glanced at Ciri slumbering while strapping the sword belt over his shoulder.

She peered at him through half-closed lids. She sat up, her expression worried. "Geralt? What's going on?"

"It's all right, Ciri. We're leaving the city now."

"I'm cold, and tired."

"I know. Me too."

Dandelion came back into the stall. "Well, Geralt. Safe travels to you." He bowed low in front of Ciri. "My lady, it was a pleasure-"

"Cut the shit, Dandelion." Geralt ignored his astonished look and took his arm and pulled him out of the stall. "You're a wanted man too, you know. You should also leave the city for a while."

The bard stared at him with the most serious expression he had ever witnessed his friend possess. Usually carefree, cheerful, and riding the high tides of life, in the current circumstances, the gravity of their situation was not lost on him. Good. He didn't want anything to happen to his good friend.

For several moments, both men stood quiet, contemplating. Geralt glanced back at Ciri and scowled. All he wanted to do in Novigrad was get a good night's rest and stock up on food and clothing. Winters in the Blue Mountains were harsh and long. She'd need warmer clothes. Not to mention new trousers since the scumbag of a sailor had ruined hers. And add horseshoes to that list too, he sighed. Dammit, how did this night go so horribly wrong?

"I'll come with you."

Geralt snapped his attention back to his friend. "I'm going home, Dandelion. To Kaer Morhen, remember?"

"I know. Just as far as Yantra. Then I'll head south to Oxenfurt. Or somewhere else if I think of it. I'll let my muses guide me. Besides, I think you could use a friend now." With a pat on his shoulder, Dandelion strolled to the next stall and saddled up his bay mare.

Geralt rode his mare out of the stable. Ciri, wrapped in her cloak and the wool blanket, shivered in Geralt's lap. Her head lolled back against his chest. With lute slung across his back, the troubadour followed Geralt's mare out of the stable.

Quietly, they walked, not trod, down dark narrow streets, keeping away from the lit main roads, making minimal sounds as possible. They crossed the lesser used southeastern bridge to the village of Arette, instead of the well-traveled Oxenfurt Bridge, for fear it was heavily guarded.

Padding through the silent empty streets of the village, Geralt kept an eye and ear open. He knew he was there, following them. Keeping far enough away, yet, watchful. He had to give it to the man, he knew how to track. He had kept up with them all this time without betraying his identity. He nodded despite it all.

He did not warn Dandelion, and certainly could not risk Ciri understanding. But he knew. So he kept on and shifted northeast to Yantra, plotting how to lose the bastard.


	8. Chapter 8 - Vision

Summary: Fleeing Novigrad, Geralt grapples with the events that had taken place in the city. Dandelion had to flee with them for he is no longer safe either. Ciri, traumatized, needs help and Dandelion is the one who finds that help for her.

Notes: Gamers of the Witcher 3 Wild Hunt will recognize the dream sequence. We live this scene through Geralt's perspective in the game, but I wanted to tell the most moving cinematic piece in the game from Ciri's perspective. In this "Vision," not only does she get a glimpse of her future self, but I wanted to dramatically show a thread I hope to carry throughout this work. The idea that by taking Ciri under his wing, Geralt, in truth, sets her free in many ways and in return (more visible later in the story) she sets Geralt free on an emotional level. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

 **Chapter Text** CHAPTER EIGHT _ _Vision__

The moon, obscured by thick low-hanging storm clouds, abandoned the world to oppressive darkness. The persistent rain continued its barrage and trailed down his leather jerkin in steady streams, drawing out its familiar pungent scent from the wetness despite wearing a thick wool cloak. But the rain could not wash away turbulent thoughts or untwist churning knots deep in his gut.

With a swift kick of silver spurs, Geralt jolted Roach from a trot into a gallop once they reached the open fields beyond the village. The rain had turned the dirt path to treacherous mud, but the mare, accustomed to off-road trekking, trudged through the muck with confident speed. This was one of those times he appreciated and relied on her stamina and agility.

Securing an arm around Ciri's midsection, he braced her against him and tucked her inside his cloak. The woolen folds closed over her completely, protecting her from the elements.

He spurred Roach again. Faster! Fly across the fields! As if she understood his thoughts, the mare lowered her head and thundered across the muck onto the grassy plains, her mane whipped in the wind spraying water in all directions, as did his. Mud and grass tore from the ground underneath her hooves, arced in the air behind them maring the landscape. Tall grass and copses of trees blurred passed in nondescript black shadows. The moonless night offered no guiding silvery rays, but he did not require much light to see in the darkness anyway. Balancing his weight on the balls of his feet, he bent low into the biting wind, clutching Ciri all the while. Faster she sped northeast with the frigid rain stinging his eyes.

The sharp cold he'd take rather than the sickening churning inside. He kicked her flanks again and Roach lengthened beneath him, giving the effort he demanded. With each thud of her hooves, he expected an outlet for his tension and anger, yet all he managed was to seethe even more.

He drove her on. Mud shot into the air and rained down about them in a radius like a twisted hailstorm spell gone wrong.

It was not about leaving the city behind as fast as he could. No, not at all. But he couldn't let off steam in a sword fight or an arm wrestling match at the moment. But what he really wanted was to gut the fucking sailor a second time, pick him back up, and do it again. Really, he would not have let the scum die so easily. A few unpleasant torturous ways of disposing a man had crossed his mind that he would have liked to do to the bastard and draw out an agonizing and slow death had Ciri not been present. Blast her stubbornness!

But right now, all he had was his horse and she thundered over the saturated ground tearing it up in her wake, but what release he gained was far too little for his satisfaction.

He sustained the relentless sprint and only after Roach slipped and stumbled a couple times, did he rein her in. Slowing to a steady trot, he steered her off the muddy road into a dense forested area. Running her hard with two bare hooves was not wise or kind, but concern over Ciri dominated his thoughts.

Damn it all to hell! He was supposed to protect the girl!

He slammed a silver-studded fist into the nearest unsuspecting tree trunk. Bark chips shot in all directions. One ricocheted off his shoulder and careened to the ground near Roach's back leg. Typical of his skittish mare, she danced sideways and snorted.

Still tucked within his cloak, he tightened his arm around Ciri. The innkeeper took her away and he let it happen. What was he thinking? He should have known she would come find him. With spunk and wit she had escaped from that Nilfgaardian knight that had plucked her from the carnage during the massacre of her country. She had eluded him and the empire's battalions across Cintra's borders, so of course she could certainly break away from an inkeep. But tonight, she was alone in a foreign city, lost in the middle of a stormy night, and terrified…

She had no one else. He was all she had. If not for him, she would not last long in this world. A world that was unkind, and to women especially, regardless of age. No young girl should be left alone with no one to turn to for protection and support.

He snapped the ends of the leather reins across his knee. Its bite stung, even through the leather trousers, but ignored it. Why didn't he wreck the guards in the stable right then and there, which was his initial instinct anyway?

"By the gods, Geralt!" Dandelion sided his bay mare alongside Roach. Both horses labored in gasping breaths, belching out puffs of white clouds from their noses and mouths like smoke from a scorching forge. "Plan on running your horse into the ground? Forgot she's missing horseshoes already, did you?"

Geralt ground his teeth. Rain streamed from his forehead, down over his cheekbones, and the back of his neck. No, he had not forgotten. With a wet glove, he swiped water from his eyes and mouth. This cursed incessant rain!

His gut churned in painful spasms. "I should never have told her to go with the innkeeper. It's all my fault," he ground out.

"No, don't think like that, Geralt. It wasn't your fault."

Roach danced in placed and snorted out a huge cloud of white. He tugged the reins and she settled. "If I hadn't let her go with him, none of this would have happened, Dandelion."

"I think the innkeeper only meant-"

"He was motivated out of concern for Ciri, I get it. But his good intentions ended up doing her more harm than if he had let us well enough alone. Why couldn't he have just let us be?" His gaze dropped to the soggy ground. "All because he didn't trust me, a Witcher, like I was some kind of... __monster."__ He spat that last word. "Where did we go wrong?" That last comment was more of an afterthought than a direct question.

"People are afraid of what they don't understand."

After centuries of existence, people still did not understand their kind? Long ago, Witchers, revered and respected, were held in such high esteem kings sought their expertise and gladly compensated them handsomely. Even folk easily tossed them coin bags for a job well done, but nowadays, negotiating a higher price for a contract usually left a bad taste in one's mouth and often accused them of exploiting their services. Truth of the matter was no one but the wealthy could afford a Witcher's true worth, which left them risking their necks for a few coins scraped up by those who barely had any to give in the first place.

Have Witchers fallen from grace so far that a young girl in his presence elicited such mistrust and disdain?

A sharp pang twinged in his chest and he grimaced. Just the memory of those dark scowls directed at him at the inn sliced through his sense of honor like a steel blade. The way the innkeeper had implied he had disturbing sexual tastes that involved young and undeveloped girls. His lip curled up in a snarl. He and his kind risked their lives every day protecting people, and this was how they were treated? As if they've lost moral and ethical standards, indeed become the monsters they hunt?

"I let her go with a stranger, Dandelion. What was I thinking?"

"Geralt… you did the only thing you could. You acted with her in mind, my friend. Stop beating yourself up. You did nothing wrong. All we can do now is move forward."

Geralt found his friend's gaze, his pupils wide and black in the darkness. "She was almost raped, dammit!" The sharp bitterness in his tone was not lost in his own ears. "She needs me. I'm protecting her and __that__ happened… On __my__ watch, Dandelion. My watch."

His friend simply gazed at him, his expression full of concern. His shoulders slumped just a bit, but he caught it. Then it hit him how the usually primped and immaculate troubadour looked at the moment. The rain soaked him. In his colorful and fanciful velour, he resembled a drowned rat with his usual light-brown wavy locks hanging long and straight, plastered to his head. He was also mostly covered in mud thanks to his irrational mad dash.

"You __are__ protecting her, and I know you, Geralt, you will protect her with your life for the rest of hers. She could not have asked for a more able and loyal guardian."

Geralt heaved a hefty sigh. Some guardian he had turned out to be! Ciri had not been with him very long and look what happened. He needed to do better than this. She deserved a much more competent protector.

He glanced back at his friend. However grateful he was for his presence, Dandelion was unwittingly dragged in the middle of this shit. They would not be in this situation had he bypassed the city altogether, but he needed to replenish supplies such as dried fruits and nuts, and clothing, warm ones for Ciri. And Roach needed two horseshoes. Another blanket and bedroll would come in handy.

"I'm sorry, friend," Geralt muttered. "You didn't have to be involved in this."

"I'm a wanted man too, Geralt, remember? We're in this together. Like old times, hey? You and me traveling together, a lot of times in weather as foul as this. Now tell me why we have left the road. Are they following us?"

He glanced back toward the direction they had come. Murky darkness swallowed the city, snuffed out what little lights flared along the skyline behind them. Fog as thick as cream soup hovered over the saturated ground and rolling mists wove their vaporous tendrils through the trees like the long crooked fingers of a crone weaving a magic spell.

Ciri nestled against him, but still she trembled violently. He tightened an arm around her again. He had to get her out of those wet clothes or she would catch her death.

"Dandelion, Ciri is still shivering. Take her and ride as fast as you can to the village. I'll not run Roach like I have already. Get her by a fire as soon as you can. Would you do this for me?"

With a serious expression, Dandelion nodded. Water sprayed from his drooping cap. "I said you could use a friend and I meant it. But wouldn't it be better if you took her on my horse? I'll take it easy on Roach and meet up with you there."

Geralt chose his next words carefully. He glanced around, inhaling a deep breath. The bastard was on their trail, he could feel it. "Normally, yes, but I need you to do this for me."

"Don't you think you sh-"

"Just do this for me. Please." He kept his tone serious, but not harsh. He locked his gaze on his friend's eyes, dark in the night.

Dandelion nodded. "I'll take her and wait for you there."

He let out the breath he held and nodded.

Carefully, he scooped her from his saddle and hoisted her up in front of Dandelion. After making sure she was secure in his saddle, did he let go of her.

"She didn't even wake. I hope she's just really tired."

The bard adjusted his lute strap so the instrument lay across his back in the same manner as Geralt wore his swords. The steady ping of raindrops tuned a more bass note on the wooden lute in contrast to the higher pitched pings on his sword hilts.

"Make sure you hold her tight… with your arm around her like-"

"Geralt, I got this."

"Right." He unfastened his cloak and flung it around his friend's shoulders. "Close it over her. Protect her from the rain."

"I can manage." Dandelion closed the cloak around her.

"Don't tell anyone who we are. Keep her identity hidden, please." Geralt collected a few gold coins from his leather pouch and placed them in the bard's gloved hand. "Here, use this for whatever you need."

Dandelion stuffed the gold into a hidden pocket and frowned down at him. "Don't worry, she'll be all right. You gonna be long?" He gave him a serious unblinking stare. "I know when you're not telling me something."

"Go. I'll catch up as fast as I can."

He slapped Pegasus' rump and she jumped forward. He stood and watched them weave through the trees and thunder away on the murky road. Within seconds, they vanished amongst the grey swirling mists.

Glancing back at the direction they had come, he checked the tautness of his sword belt across his chest. The cursed rain turned into a slow and steady drizzle, but it still seeped into everything. The dampness chilled to the bone.

Stifling a shiver, he relieved himself in front of some bushes. Leaning back against a medium-sized tree trunk, he waited long enough to give Dandelion lead time.

Warmth… Heat… She craved heat, needed it, would die without it. Why couldn't she warm up? Teeth chattered loud in her head, she could not stop it. She quaked from head to toe. Cold… this unnerving cold…

Geralt… she wanted him, needed him. She didn't feel him. Was he near? She sniffed. His earthy woodsmoke and leather scent that reminded her of a campfire in the woods was not around. He was not around… Cold. She was so cold…

She sank back into the vision that formed in her mind. Shadows focused into undetectable shapes and then those shapes twisted into recognizable forms, the colors, vibrant, filled in everything...

 _ _There he is. Tall and still, standing before a thatched-roof stone cabin. Not a single part of him moves, except his familiar white ponytail fluttering in the slight breeze. When the clouds part, silvery rays beam down outshining a single candle on top of a cloth-covered crate next to the entrance. The soft moonlight, diffused by mists, illuminates his pure white hair so that it glistens with the motion. The black leather trousers and jerkin, that fits him like a second skin, also shines sleek, the rays glint off the many silver buckles and studs on every piece of clothing.__

 _ _Some baskets stuffed with glass bottles of various sizes, crates loaded with herbs, a few long two-by-four wood planks, and a wagon wheel propped against the side of the structure, fills the space beside the door, all suggests someone lives here. But the owner is nowhere around.__

 _ _The house, the only one in sight, is surrounded by once full and vibrant pines that now droop their bare branches in a wearisome and drawn-out permanent winter, never having returned to the world of the living from their dormancy. A bluish-grey fog, illuminated by the moon, silhouettes the bare trees in an eerie way as if she has become a part of a dark children's tale.__

 _ _She hovers just over his right shoulder, behind him, not sure how or why only that she is not in her true form. Or perhaps, this is her true form… However it may be, it seems Geralt is not aware of her presence.__

 _ _His back to her, she cannot see his face or read his expression. The wooden door, framed with an ancient intricate and symmetrical design carved by an artistic and practiced hand, hung open but a crack, beckoning, but he just stands there staring at it.__

 _ _An awful silence hovers over the dreary land. A breathless silence. One full of anticipation and… dread.__

 _ _Still, he remains unmoving before the door. Is he afraid to go in? Hesitant of what he may find?__

 _ _Breathless herself, she waits. Where is this place? A lone cabin in the middle of nowhere. Dank, cool, with swirling mists coiling around the trees after dusk, crawling low over the ground, suffocating everything. The distant cry of a… what is that? A harpy... echoes through the trees. Before she ponders how she recognizes a harpy's cry, she focuses on the locale. Reminds her of Skellige, actually, her home away from home. Is it possible they are on one of the isles? But this place... not one she recognizes.__

 _ _Her attention snaps back to him. He has placed a gloved hand on the wooden door and ever so gently, he pushes it. The wood groans and creaks louder than usual in the stillness as his arm extends, holding it wide open.__

 _ _Hesitating at the threshold, he just stands there. Motionless.__

 _ _Her gaze shifts, peering into the darkness beyond the door. Eerily quiet, she cannot make out much of what is inside other than some broken crockery on the floor near the door. Is someone in there?__

 _ _A bright silvery beam shines down behind them lighting a path into the darkened home. Or is that light emanating from her?__

 _ _He casts a long dark shadow into the room. The black elongated shapes of the hilts of two swords, large and distinct, the circumference of his head and wide shoulders stretch across the floor and up the far wall where a bed rests. Someone lies upon it, also unmoving.__

 _"_ _ _Geralt…?" she dares, but her voice falters. She's not sure why she spoke, but just the sound of his name calms her even though the tone of her voice jolts her. It is not a familiar voice, but deeper, more mature, that of a woman. But it is her voice, of that she is sure.__

 _ _He does not respond.__

 _ _Can he hear her? Perhaps that is why he's not aware of her presence.__

 _ _Just a small step he takes inside and stays focused on the bed in the back of the room. Then another small step forward.__

 _ _She lingers at the threshold. She shouldn't go any further, doesn't want to intrude, although she felt silly for feeling this way. It was the way he moved, silent ginger steps… hesitant, as if he dreaded discovering something horrible, or the possibility of facing a deep-seeded fear. His body language, tense, alert, and ready to brace what he will find, all suggests this is a big deal… This is a moment he has been waiting for, something he has labored long and hard for… and yet, he cannot bring himself to face it.__

 _ _Peering into the large single-room home, she studies the slumbering figure. Lying on her side facing the wall, a woman stretched out on top of the covers. Slender, feminine curves betrayed a lean, lithe figure, alluring, and tall. Dressed in tight black leather armor, high boots, a wide black and silver belt, and a deep wine-colored blouse underneath chainmail covers her upper body. Clearly fully grown. And her hair...__

 _ _She sucked in her breath. No! It cannot be...__

 _ _The emotions he so desperately attempts to stifle radiates from him like the rays of the noonday sun. They scorched her, suffocated her, for her emotions were truly similar at the moment. It is clear that the person on the bed means a great deal to him. To the man that means a great deal to her.__

 _ _Standing there, he stares down at the woman, his expression stony, yet his eyes, soft and rounded, glazes over with… wetness? Gently, he sits down on the bed beside her, his weight dipping the mattress. The young woman does not wake or stir… Is she alive?__

 _ _Her gaze races back to Geralt's and then at the woman again, but she still doesn't bring herself to cross the threshold. Not yet. He needs to be alone with this lady who is breaking his heart right now.__

 _ _His lips firm in a straight line, he reaches for her shoulder. For a moment, his hand rests there, as if he were gathering the courage to finally face the inevitable. Gingerly, he rolls her onto her back. Her arms, limp, fall with a dead weight next to her and her head lolls to the side. He jumps to his feet and staggers backwards, overwhelmed.__

 _ _From the threshold, she stares at the woman whose identity is now clear and loses the ability to breathe, fluttering to the ground just outside the door like a wilted flower, her light dimming. She does not have the strength. She cannot face the truth that…__

 _ _The raw emotions he stifled moments ago, cascades over her like a thundering waterfall and she drowns in its intensity. He nearly stumbles and collapses back onto the bed, his elbows on his knees, head down… his heart broken.__

 _ _NO, no, no! She screams, yet her voice is not heard. The sound never passed her lips. No, she cannot do this to him, she is right here! "Geralt!" she cries, but he still sits there, hanging his head, his eyes tightly closed. "I'm right here!"__

 _ _Why can't he hear her? Her body may be in a deathlike state, but she is right with him, has been all along!__

 _ _He turns to the still form, lying in the sleep of death, and slides his hands underneath the crooks of her arms like a mother does to pick up her baby from a crib. Drawing her up, he embraces her, buries his face in her neck, rocking back and forth.__

 _ _It is too much. She cannot bear the grief, his loss. "I am right here…" she murmurs, her strength about gone. "Geralt, I'm here!"__

 _ _Her strength evaporates and she wilts on the ground before the threshold. The only thing she can do is gaze into the house and at Geralt clutching the woman's limp form close to him. He knows she is gone, yet he still embraces her and slides a hand up her back, gripping the nape of her neck.__

 _ _The display before her brims with the tender compassion she has always longed for and a sense that it has been ages since she has experienced that left her breathless. She lets go and absorbs the scene she is witnessing. However tender it is, it is intimate as well, by the way he wraps his arms tighter around her as if he wills to impart his life force into the empty shell of her body. However futile the effort, the longing is there. It is palpable. His thudding heart echoes in her ears, the groans of grief barely heard uttered from his lips, reverberates in her soul. The tears she cannot see she discovers on her own cheeks.__

 _ _A sudden understanding fills her and her light grows in intensity until it blinds her. His love, true and unconditional, gives her strength, but even more so, sets her free. Weightless again, she rises in the air absorbing the rays of the moon. Her strength returns and she knows what she must do.__

 _ _Finally allowing herself to cross the threshold, she scurries inside the dark house, as light as a butterfly, her essence shining in a radius around her. She flutters to Geralt, more than grateful for this man in her life, and then the pull takes over. His pull, his influence. Letting go, she twirls around him, but he doesn't see her and that was all right. He'll know in a moment. Over his shoulder, she came up behind him and the pull sucks her essence into the forehead of the unresponsive woman. The woman she knows all too well and is yet a stranger. The grown woman with ashen hair...__

 _ _The crush of his arms around her, his hand at her nape holding her in place is the one place she longs to be… this close to him, protected and loved. The familiar scent of leather and steel, of pine and woodsmoke surrounds her…__

 _ _She opens her eyes and encircles her arms around his back, clutching him as fiercely as he holds her.__

 _ _Home, she is home!__

With a gasp, Ciri's eyes shot open.

A ray of morning sun sliced a line of gold from the window down onto her face. A myriad of tiny glittering particles danced in a tireless rhythm inside the beam. Squinting, the brightness pained her eyes, and groaning, she moved to flatten the pillow over her face. But she could not turn her head. Or move her arms.

Her heart slammed in her chest, her breathing became difficult as a sick horrific wave struck her. She was paralyzed and unable to move in the slightest fashion!

A jolt slammed her in the forehead and shot an electric bolt through her limbs and out through her fingertips and toes. What was that? What just happened?

Breathing in rapid gulps of air, she twitched her extremities. Exhaling deeply, relief flooded her. Everything functioned properly.

She's alive… and able to move.

The memory of the dream began to fade and she scrambled to grasp it, to etch it in her mind and soul before it was lost forever like most of her dreams. For this one was special, she could tell. Geralt… he was in it. It had something to do with him. And her. But what was it exactly? She had a hard time recalling. It hovered on the precipice, but warmth swelled inside at the mere thought with a powerful sense of…

"You're awake, dear. Good. How do you feel?"

Tingles shot down her back. Although grateful she wasn't alone, she glanced about for the source of the unfamiliar alto voice. Ciri took in the chamber in one sweeping scan before settling upon a woman before the hearth. It took a moment for her eyes to clear and focus on her long dark waves that flowed over her slender back. The woman bent toward the grate and placed another log on the fire. Flames swelled and danced around casting shadows in the darkened room, although sunlight poured inside through the window over the bed.

"Wh-where am I?" Ciri croaked with a parched throat.

"Hush, child." The stranger turned toward her, her long flowing skirts swirled with her movement when she padded across the room. The dimness cast her features in shadow and Ciri squinted to get a look at her, but the brightness from the window blinded and hid everything beyond its golden beams in dark, muted shadows.

Pushing herself up on an elbow, she wiped her nose. Strong and varied aromas of sweet flowers and poignant herbs assaulted her senses. The tickle made her sneeze. Many different varieties of herbs hanging upside down from the ceiling and around the mantle bespoke this lady was an herbalist, or possibly a healer.

The lady came over, bent near, and placed a palm to her forehead. "Much better. Shivering ceased and still no fever."

Returning to the hearth, she used a wooden ladle and poured steaming liquid into a wide-mouthed earthen-colored crock. Gathering her skirts close about her legs, she sat down on a stool beside the bed. Holding out the mug, she said softly, "Here child, drink. You need to replenish your fluids. Careful, it is very hot."

Ciri sat up, clutching the sheets, but did not accept the crock. Glancing down, her lambskin clothing had been replaced with a long plain linen night shift a couple sizes too large. "Who are you? And where am I?" She looked for Geralt, but clearly, he was not there. Only the herbalist, or healer, or whomever she was, and she were the only two in the modest sized house.

"You're safe here. Please drink."

Ciri's breathing quickened. Although the woman appeared youthful, her glittering blue eyes were lined with kohl emphasizing their hue. Her fair skin, smooth and flawless was framed by dark wavy hair and red lips. She was beautiful. But despite her appearance, she was a stranger and she had no idea how she had gotten there and why. And where was Geralt? Or the poet, for that matter?

"Geralt!" Ciri cried flinging off the covers.

"Hush, child. There's no need to be upset. You're safe."

"I don't care! I don't know you. Where's Geralt? I want Geralt!" Despite an unusual weakness in her limbs, she scurried down the length of the bed and swung her legs to the floor. Upon standing, the room swayed in a circular pattern and she paused placing a hand to her forehead until the room righted itself again. The dizziness passed. Did that lady give her potions? Was she a witch? She must have drugged her! Geralt… she had to get to him!

It was then her eyes landed on her clothes drying out by the hearth. Her pants in particular arrested her gaze as well as her soul.

The woman's gaze followed hers and when they rested on her trousers also, her lips tightened, her eyes narrowed.

Stumbling over to the hearth, Ciri picked up the pants that had no longer fit properly. The back seam had been completely torn apart leaving a gaping hole where her bottom would be.

Cheeks flaming, the memory of what caused her pants to end up like this came rushing back at once. The sailor with one eye… the dark alley… her pants torn and ruined in an attempt at something much more horrifying.

A full-bodied quake overtook her again and weakness stole her strength. The sensation of falling and not able to control it until she hit the wooden floor left her breathless. The woman was beside her in an instant, helping her to her feet and back to the bed.

"Geralt…" she whined breathless. "Please... take me to Geralt."

A soft pillow beneath her head and covers tucked under her chin eased the shivers somewhat, but still she trembled.

The woman pressed the warm mug to her lips. Holding up her head, she encouraged her to drink it's contents. The taste was familiar and sweet, but it was mixed with something else she did not recognize. Her parched throat begged for hydration. She drank eagerly anyway.

The lady watched her with a worried expression.

Lying her head back down, Ciri needed to make sure the woman understood. "Please, mistress… I need Geralt-" Sleepiness weighed her eyelids. "I need him…"

"Sssh, dear. You are safe. Sleep now."

Everything went black.

Dandelion, exhausted, treaded down the path toward the healer's home situated on the outskirts of Yantra. The reins slack in his open gloved palm, even Pegasus' gait was slothful.

After he had stumbled upon this house a few hours ago, he thanked his lucky stars the home belonged to a healer, and a rather attractive one at that. He grinned to himself. And single too, for it was obvious she lived alone.

She took Ciri in and administered her skills at once, no questions asked. Not able to watch and do nothing, he jumped back on his horse and headed back in the direction where he had left Geralt, just a little way, in case he could be of assistance. But Geralt was nowhere to be found and he did not want to leave Ciri alone too long with the woman, healer or not.

It grated on him that Geralt wasn't forthright. He was hiding something, he was sure of it. Yeah, it annoyed him. And hurt a little to boot. How could a friend not trust him? But, on the other hand, perhaps trust was not the issue here for Geralt trusted Ciri in his care while he stayed behind and… well, dealt with whatever it was he wouldn't tell him. When he got here, he'd make him spill the beans or he'd regret it. He would compose a ballad about the Witcher's closed mouth syndrome and blasted sense of privacy.

Dandelion sighed. Reality was, he knew his friend well enough to know Geralt had good reason to do what he did. He always did. Methodical by nature, Geralt never wasted time on anything. Efficient and reliable, he always had a method behind the way he tackled anything. He would simply have to wait and trust him.

At the moment, the sun shone bright this morning, although he doubted it would last. The receding storm clouds darkened the sky to the east, but lighter clouds overhead still bode a mostly overcast day.

Tucked within a copse of tall thick oak trees, Chessa's humble and weathered wood house showed signs of years of decay, and due to lack of direct sunlight, the roof was covered in green and brown moss. The sun's rays clearly did not penetrate through the branches heavy with large leaves. Already, many of them had lost their dark green hue of summer and various shades of reds and browns of autumn now littered the ground around the house and the path that led to it. As if on cue, one such large multi-pointed leaf fluttered in the air not far ahead. It suddenly furled upwards, dancing in the current, tumbling over itself. Then caught up in the breeze, shot towards him. A well timed dodge saved his eyes from an unpleasant mishap at the risk of nearly tumbling out of his saddle.

When he reached the house, he took his time dismounting. The door groaned opened and Chessa stepped out on the porch, a hand clutching her skirts up enough to reveal high-heeled laced black leather boots that disappeared beneath the flowing folds of her dress. He grinned, despite the fatigue. The healer was a comely lass and not a green-faced, wart-nosed witch popular in children's' tales. Of that he was grateful.

After closing the door with care, she whirled on him, hands on hips and fire ignited in those stunning blue eyes.

Sadly, not the kind of fire he anticipated.

Was Ciri all right? A muscle clenched in his gut at the thought she might not be and that was the reason for Chessa's unmistakable fury. But wouldn't she be morose instead of angry?

Dandelion paused, taken aback. "How are you this morning, my fine healeress?" He tried to sound confident and offered a rather lazy bow, but truth be told, he was too damned tired.

"Don't you dare take a step closer, Poet, you hear?!"

Skirts fluttering, she approached and drawing herself up to her full height (which meant the top of her head barely reached his shoulders), her palm made contact with his cheek with a loud crack. A burning ache spread across the left side of his face.

"Had I known!" She spat.

Taking a step back, he rubbed his stinging cheek.

"Hey, I didn't deserve that." Although his pride stung just as much as his stubbled cheek, he refrained from raising his voice. It never bode well to yell at a lady. "Kindly inform me had you known what, exactly?"

Chessa's eyes spat fire anew. "You came to my home in the wee hours of the morning, frantic with worry, sopping wet, with a young girl in obvious need. She cried in her sleep for this Geralt fella. And when she awoke, she went into near hysterics because he wasn't here. I had to give her quite a bit of chamomile to induce sleep! But, she never cried out for you."

"I can expl-"

Chessa's pointed finger at his face silence him. "The back of her pants are ripped to shreds! They practically fell off her when I removed them. This girl is scared to death! I can only imagine what you did to her!"

Dandelion swallowed hard. "I can explain."

"Oh, I bet. You'll start by explainin' who this Geralt is and why she wants him so badly. Is he her father?"

"I… uh, no. But, he-"

"Where is he?"

"He's on his way. Look, Chessa. I… Geralt and I are very grateful you helped us out. You'll see for yourself when he arrives-"

"You and another man traveling with a ten-year-old girl? No others? No women in your troop?"

"Eleven," Dandelion sighed. "She's eleven. And ah… no. Just us three." He barely uttered that last statement because suddenly Dandelion had an idea of what Geralt felt back there in the city. Now he was accused of perverted behavior much like Geralt was. This could be bad. Very bad.

Chessa gave him a solid expression of disgust. "You'll not get any closer to the girl, you hear? Sleep in the chicken coop or… anywhere but my house you understand?"

"Chessa, my lady 'tis a simple misunderst-"

"Oh, don't try to flatter me with your fine eloquent tongue, Master Poet. I know men like you. And until I know what exactly is going on here, you stay away from the girl. Understood? Don't make me put a pox on ya."

Blue eyes flaring, Chessa's gaze swept over him and her stern expression softened. Just a bit. Was that the slightest hint of a smile of desire? Slight or not, he recognized that gaze when he saw one.

With a dramatic turn, she headed for the door with a grace unusual for someone like… a healer.

"It's not what you think, Chessa!" Dandelion's hands dropped to his sides. No, this was going all wrong! Why would she think he had anything to do with... Then a thought struck him. "Wait! Can I have my lute, please?" Dandelion called while the door closed.

A few moments later, the door opened again.

"No, no, NO!" Dandelion lurched toward the porch as the instrument came sailing through the air. Landing hard on his stomach on the wooden planks, he lost his breath, but pressed his forehead on his bicep, and breathed out a huge sigh. The lute lay across his outstretched forearms. His livelihood saved from destruction!

Rising from the porch with a groan, he straightened his jerkin and hugged his instrument to his chest as if it were the one thing he cared most about. Well, in a way, it was. He stood staring at the closed door of the healer's home. It was quiet inside. Ciri seemed to be in good hands and Geralt would never forgive him if he learned he left Ciri unattended, so not having any other choice, he pulled a rocking chair closer to the window and sat down, resting his lute across his thighs. He stole a peek inside the window. Ciri lay peacefully asleep on the bed, the sun's rays glittering off her messy ashen hair.

Relaxing, he sat back and propped up the lute against his chest and strummed it with well practiced ease. Grimacing, it was dreadfully out of tune. In the midst of the birds' relaxing lullabies, he rocked on the chair lazily strumming, and tuned it up as if he had all the time in world. Then he found himself humming a favorite song, one he had written showcasing the romance between Geralt and his sorceress lover, Yennefer. The romance that had become legendary because of his ballad.

Stealing another glance in the window, he met Chessa's intense gaze and they held the connection for a few fleeting moments until she turned away, her glorious long waves swirling with the movement.

Sighing, Dandelion continued making music and it drifted through the trees. He stifled a yawn.

When the hell was Geralt going to join up with them?

On its own accord, Geralt's hand found his sword hilt. He tightened his fingers around it and breathed better with the reassurance of its cold solid steel. He let it go. The blade he could count on, it was a part of him, an extension of his arm. He let out a slow calming breath.

Ciri was safe with Dandelion. He would get her to the village and to the warmth she so desperately needed. As for the bastard following them, he would know the sharp bite of steel soon.

Keeping to the trees, he continued back toward the city. Eyes and ears sharpened, he studied the ground for the tiniest evidence, listened to every bird call, heard sticks breaking, leaves rustling, and the scurry of small forest dwellers through the brush. He breathed in the dank musty air for any scent of their pursuer.

This he understood, __this__ was his element. Already, his stomach unclenched, muscles relaxed, even though his blood stirred.

The Witcher was on the hunt.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Hunt

Summary: The Witcher is on the hunt hoping to confront his pursuer, but runs into the unexpected.

 ** **CHAPTER NINE****

 _ _ ** **The Hunt****__

"Come on, dammit," Geralt grumbled with barely a whisper. He crouched near a bush refusing to swipe away a pesky branch from poking him in the ear. If he adjusted it, it would make noise and worse if it snapped. Another stick poked him on the outside of his thigh. He ignored it.

Glaring through the dried up rustic-colored leaves and withering white myrtle blossoms not yet surrendered to the autumn breeze, he concentrated his attention again on the small camp several yards away. It was quiet in the dark wee hours of the morning, save for the snapping of a small fire by which three men lounged. The fog still hovered over the ground and its snakelike tendrils wove its way through the camp. At least at this point, the rain took a break.

Several tankards and large carafes of alcohol littered the campsite. These men were nothing more than common brigands. Dressed in patched and filthy leather jerkins, these grubby bastards hid tucked away near the main road to Novigrad waiting to ambush unsuspecting travelers. Filthy swines.

He tuned out the rhythmic snoring of one man lounging against a tree trunk and focused on the other two carrying out a hushed conversation on the far side of the fire.

"Cursed rain," one brigand with a dark and full beard muttered. "Damned storm kept the travelers at bay for two blasted days."

The second man, younger and clean-shaven, tossed a couple sticks in the struggling flames. "Knew we shoulda tried to inter… interse…"

"Intercept, idiot."

"Right. We shoulda intercepted those two men a couple hours back."

"Boy, you really are an idiot. Those two flew past like the devil were on their heels. How did you supposed we were to __intercept__ 'em, huh? Coulda tossed you out in front of them horses. That mighta slowed 'em down enough."

"Hey, no reason to be mean," the younger man grumbled.

Eavesdropping for about three quarters of an hour, all they discussed were nagging wives, their common distaste of the growing presence of non-humans in the city, and listless lovers, all during frequent urination and passing gas.

Geralt shook his head and swiped the blasted branch aside.

"Enough of this."

Emerging from the bush, he did not bother to creep across the road, but strode with purpose straight into the brigands' camp. Making eye contact with both men, he nodded politely, taking care not to appear threatening, although he was in no mood offering good manners to these thugs.

"Need any help? Lost by chance? You're not far from the city."

"Help?" The younger man looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. "What you think we need help with? And we 'ain't lost neither. No one gone by to-"

"Kind of you to offer, stranger," the older man interrupted shooting his companion a fierce glare that quieted him. "But, ah, no thanks."

"You guys alone out here?"

Bearded man made a show of glancing around. "Looks that way."

"Haven't seen anyone else snooping around here, have you?"

Silence. Two pairs of eyes narrowed sizing him up. Perhaps that question came a bit too soon.

"Just who the fuck are you?"

Crouching down before the fire, Geralt extended his hands near the flames, warming them. He offered a slight easy smile. "Just a traveler passing through-"

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Cintra," the young man drawled. Bearded man gave him an off-color look.

Peering at the younger bloke through narrowed lids, Geralt refrained from commenting. Although that remark was nothing more than pure coincidence, however, he kept up his guard.

The older man tossed a stick at the young man. "Have respect, man. Gods rest her soul." He returned his gaze to Geralt. "Look, stranger. Don't know what ya want or who ya really are, but by the look of ya, with your fine black armor and shiny hardware on your back, you are not 'just passing through.'" He reached for a sword propped nearby on a tree stump. His fingers closed around the hilt. "Me thinks you're here deliberately. If you are out to arrest us-"

"Relax, I'm not here for you."

The older man eyed him a minute longer before slowly withdrawing his fingers from the hilt, not quite convinced. He resumed his former casual slouch. "Good choice. Or we'd have to defend ourselves, you understand."

"Understood. But you don't have anything to fear from me unless you make the first move. You never answered my question. Seen anyone else around here?"

The older man tossed a small branch onto the smoking flames. "Looking for someone? Well, good luck. Ghost town here thanks to the storm."

He changed tactics. "Crying shame about the Queen of Cintra."

"Crying shame," bearded man shook his head. "The Lioness of Cintra will no longer hold up the north. And her poor Lion Cub. An even greater tragedy."

Geralt caught his breath and released it slow and steady, keeping his outward show casual and indifferent. Come on... continue. What about Ciri?

The young man shook his head, "Queen's dead, Pavetta's dead, and her daughter, what's her name? Sereena, Serna?"

Bearded man tossed a clump of grass at the young man. "Cirilla, dolt!"

Young man dodged the clump of flying earth, but the soil sprayed over him. He wiped it off and smeared dirt over his already grubby jerkin. "Right, Cirilla. Young girl. Too bad."

"She's disappeared. No one has seen her, apparently, but I think she's dead."

"It's likely," Geralt dared, keeping his tone straight and casual. "The odds are against her. A young girl alone with nowhere to go, no one to protect her, would not last long."

"Very true. Care for a drink, friend?" Bearded man offered a dark glass bottle with a long neck.

"Kind of you, but I best be on my way." Geralt stood, hesitating, daring one more question. "Say she disappeared. Anyone looking for her, you think?"

"Ah, who knows," bearded man waved a hand. "There's talk that a Nilfgaardian captured her and brought her safely out of the falling city at the time of the attack. But haven't heard anything more."

Geralt nodded in thought keeping his expression steady.

Now he was sure these men were not pursuing him, but… he rubbed burning eyes. That meant he had followed the wrong trail, or there was nothing to follow in the first place. These men were not trackers or hunters, but lazy drunkards looking to make an easy profit at the expense of unsuspecting travelers. Someone was out there, but he couldn't take the time to backtrack or move forward in search of another trail. It would take too long and already he had been gone longer than he should have.

Turning on his heel, he glanced back at the thugs and grinned keeping a light air. "If a lady is less than enthusiastic, clearly, you're doing something wrong."

Bearded man glanced up at him and scowled. Then he guffawed loudly, his laughter echoed through the trees. He took a long swig from a tankard. "Suppose you think you're the expert at pleasing the ladies, huh?" he chuckled again.

Geralt grinned. "Know a thing or two."

The younger man snickered. "Doubt it. Just look at him. All pale, hair white like my grandpa. And that ugly scar splitting his eye…" He pointed at his companion. "Bet he scares away the ladies."

Bearded man grimaced in a jesting manner. "Come on, admit it, stranger. Have a hard time gettin' in between shapely legs, do ya?"

Geralt shook his head, but did not comment. To think he had had sex for more years than these jerks have been alive, would blow their minds.

Young man laughed harder. "Bet his right hand gets more action!"

The two roared and drowned themselves in vodka, by the smell of it.

Their mocking tones did not ruffle him. Not reacting to often rude and insulting comments was a strength he prided himself on. Instead, he chuckled, letting them have the upper hand. "Well, what man's hand isn't a faithful companion? You know," he added as if he were letting them in on a secret, "women are moved by scars. And I've got plenty." He winked knowingly.

The men did not react. In fact, they did not pay any attention to him. Really, was his comment that bad? Men banter all the time...

Their glee had vanished, swallowed up in an unexpected tense moment. Faces pale, they gasped for breath as if all the air had disappeared from some unexplained abnormality. It was then the unnatural stillness settled around them. No, it was not his comment. The stillness was just that: unnatural. It sucked the air from the atmosphere as if a magical portal was about to appear in a swirling vortex before them. Yennefer opened portals frequently and he experienced the sensation often enough to recognize it, but no portal opened here, at least not one within a wide radius of this location.

Their faces paled even more as they struggled to breathe. The feeling only lasted a moment more and they relaxed, relieved, shaking their heads and taking deep breaths.

"What was that?" bearded man breathed. "Did you feel that?"

White puffs of air escaped Geralt's nostrils that hadn't before. It was cool and damp out, but not cold enough to see one's breath. Exhaling slowly from his mouth, a billowing white cloud evaporated shortly after it had escaped his lips. But even more puzzling, a chill sharp as a blade cut across his forehead then penetrated his bones with a deep excruciating ache. A shiver wracked his frame that rattled his teeth. The frigid cold was more intense than midwinter in the Blue Mountains. Was that even possible? What caused such a drastic change in temperature?

In answer, a roar in the distance, at first a low rumble from behind, swelled in intensity. Thunder again? But something about this was different, unusual. It was continuous, unlike a storm, yet more like a large herd of wild game trampling through the fields.

He glanced back at the brigands. Color had returned to their complexions and no longer labored to breathe. The clean-shaven thug rubbed his arms and leaned in closer to the fire. Then he glanced up at the sky and his eyes rounded, an expression of disbelief and fear evident on his face. Pointing up, the bearded man's gaze followed.

The pounding thunder of many hooves, much louder now, emanated from the sky somehow. Impossible. He must not be hearing correctly.

A bluish-white glow lit up the night. The moon had been obscured by storm clouds, so where was that light coming from?

"By the gods!" Bearded man staggered to his feet, never taking his eyes from the sky. "No…. HIDE! Get out of sight, NOW!"

Both men scrambled from the mucky ground and took off for the cover of the nearest trees, slipping and kicking up mud in haste.

Their snoring companion snorted and came to. Glancing around sleepily, he rubbed an eye. "Wha-what's goin' on?" he mumbled.

"Get out of sight!" Geralt barked, kicking dirt and mud over the flames smothering the pathetic campfire in an instant. A soft hiss and smoke billowed up from the logs.

Crouched in the shadows of the treeline, Geralt waited and watched, his fingers twitching for his blade, but he held off a moment longer. Peering up at the sky, he couldn't believe his eyes. What the hell?!

A cavalcade of spectral warriors flew toward them overhead, a trail of ice and snow swirled behind along with black tattered banners rippling in the wind. Amidst the fog, ice, like hailstones, plummeted to the ground. A few nailed him on the head. The roar swelled to deafening decibels, the ghostly army vanished and reappeared between the grey mists advocating their ghastly natures.

Fixing his gaze above, he studied them, knowing he had only a few moments to gain any information on this phenomenon before they passed from sight.

Warriors in black armor rode upon massive dark skeletal steeds. Their armor, both ancient and expertly crafted, was layered with frost. But, astonishingly, they were semi-transparent! The sky was visible __through__ them.

Wraiths? None like he had ever seen.

Each warrior wore hideous masks, some resembled the human skull, that hid any signs of their likeness. Their sheer size struck Geralt. Even from this distance, these warriors were huge, much larger than the males of any race here in the northern kingdoms. Even the horses were immense, swift and strong.

For centuries Witchers had catalogued all the different species of creatures and monsters known in this world trapped here by the Conjunction of the Spheres. But what he witnessed now was not classified in brother Aldabert's Bestiary. Yet, somewhere in the deep recesses of his memory, an old legend came to mind. But now was not the time to dwell on it.

Drowsy man howled at the top of his lungs and Geralt's gaze snapped back to him astounded he hadn't sought shelter. The brigand's eyes fixed on the fields across the way and struggled to his feet as fast as he could.

Following the man's anxious and intense gaze, Geralt pushed aside a few branches for a clearer view. Movement in the fields caught his attention. The tall grass and bushes swayed to the ground in a single path as if some giant invisible foot trampled them. Small trees even toppled one in front of the other. Whatever it was, moved swiftly and headed in the direction of the camp.

What have we here?

With a metallic hiss, Geralt unsheathed his silver sword. Focusing his gaze and tightening his grip on the hilt, he waited for what would emerge.

He didn't wait long. A huge creature burst forth from the tall grass and hurtled towards them closing the gap between in a few heartbeats.

The brigand found his footing and took several hurried steps backwards, his face as white as the snow trailing behind the spectral beings. Howling, he turned and dashed for the trees.

By the gods, it was a demon on four legs! On closer inspection, it was no demon, but a ghostly hound of some sort with a dark spectral look about it and frost iced its hide. But it was no hound he had ever seen before. Its back legs bore a strong parallel to long lean thighs and calves of human males. Its front legs also resembled humanoid arms. Could it be that magic twisted humans into these... creatures? But aside of their appendages, human likeness ended. Its back boasted spiked ridges that toothed across from one side to the other like an ancient creature found only in long forgotten archaic tomes. The face bore no snout, but its teeth appeared deadly sharp.

The creature's speed was unbelievable for its size. It barrelled towards them just nearing the line of trees at the entrance to the camp, kicking up muddy tufts of grassy ground. It was upon him in a matter of seconds. Another bone chilling wave of mind-numbing cold permeated the area.

Jaws gaping revealed short, but razor-sharp teeth. It sniffed him and lunged.

With a sheer instinctual and automatic reaction, Geralt splayed his hand toward the damp ground. The Sign shot from his palm and the magical force field exploded around him in a shock wave of energy with such force it shook the trees, spattered muck in all directions, and derailed the hound from its path. It skidded backwards several yards. However, it recovered quickly and regained its footing. Shaking its head, it sprinted towards him again.

Geralt dove and rolled out of its path, the tip of his blade sliced its backside. A high-pitched metallic scrape pierced his ears. Damn, the hound was armored! Naturally or not, he couldn't quite tell and that changed his strategy.

A deep penetrating cold emanated from the beast! Was it made entirely of ice? Maybe that was what his blade scraped against...

Positioning himself with bent knees, in a fighting stance, he held his blade in a defensive diagonal parry bracing for the next contact. Goose flesh ran a race down his arms and legs and he stifled the urge to shiver.

The otherworldly foe turned toward him and bared its impressive set of fangs. Saliva dripped from their pointy edges, the stench of its breath as poignant as the chill.

Flexing his hand, he cast another Sign and a magically-charged shield glowed orange around him. The immediate protection from the cold was a relief and slowly, Geralt backed away, putting more space between them.

The hound hunkered down on its haunches, staring at him, ready to pounce. Geralt dug his heels into the soggy ground, lowered and widened his stance, preparing for impact. The hound leaped and collided with the shield. A sizzling crash jarred it backwards.

The impact jolted him even guarded by the magical energy. He breathed out heavily as the shield crackled and dissipated. The power used to strengthen it drained it, shortening the length of its use.

This was a formidable creature. He had not seen everything it could do, he was sure, but did not want to find did it come from? Was it even a natural beast or one created by magic?

Again, the hound recovered quickly and jumped him. Geralt sprang out of way, but not far enough that he couldn't reach it with his blade. He thrust at it, but the hound was ready and lurched at him. He jerked his sword up in a frantic defensive parry, but its brute force flung him backwards. He landed hard on his back smacking the back of his head on the ground shooting hammering jolts of pain through his skull. Gasping, he croaked out a groan, his breath gone.

Regaining his wits, he clenched his hand and about panicked. His palm was empty. Where was his sword?! The impact had forced the blade from his grasp.

The hound approached and stood over him, powerful legs on either side of his shoulders. Its huge body blocked everything from view. Its leg muscles, thick and sculpted, rippled in controlled strength. The creature expanded its chest, proving its superior size and strength. The frigid cold, as deep as the grave, brought more pain than a knife wound. The cold alone could kill.

Staring at him, it growled low in its throat. Bared fangs closed in on him not more than a hand-span away and globs of saliva slobbered onto his nose and chin. Grimacing, Geralt dared not move. The drool stank of dead fish and ran a cold trail down his neck. He could not stifle the shiver that overtook his frame this time.

Not daring to breathe, Geralt froze. Why did it not attempt to finish him off? Was the beast gloating? Was it that intelligent? It thinks it had the upper hand, but he still had a few arsenals up his sleeve. He wasn't ready to die now at the mercy of this thing.

His fingers crawled along the soaked ground searching for the cold hard steel of the sword's hilt, but it was too far out of reach. Twisting the fingers of his other hand into the form of a Sign, he was ready, but then a deep brass horn blared through the night.

The hound relaxed its fighting stance and looked to the horizon and back down at him again as if it was torn as to what to do.

So the horn summoned it... Would it finish him off, or do as it was commanded?

Making eye contact once again, it growled at him. Geralt held his breath, his fingers ready. Then it leaped over him, taking off for the treeline toward the city, spraying mud and ice over every inch of him.

At last he let out the breath he held. He rolled onto his stomach and rose to rest on one knee and retrieved his sword.

Several yards beyond the camp, the dark shape of a man bolted from the trees, scurrying away in a frenzy.

"NO!" Geralt hollered, and spat away the slimy dribble. "Stay in the trees!"

But the thug, the man who had slept through his conversation with Bearded man and the younger man, was too panicked to pay attention and did not listen. Within seconds, horrifying screeching and howling tore through the night as the beast gripped the man in its gapping sharp-toothed maw and disappeared further into the darkness.

"Shit!" Geralt cursed.

"What the-?" The other two men emerged from the trees looking to him before they came out in the open.

"It's all right." Geralt waved them out and wiped the slobber from his face and neck. "They're gone. For now." The grave-like chill also dissipated.

"Oh, Walt, you idiot! You've gone and got yourself killed," bearded man lamented gazing in the direction the hound had carried his companion.

Younger man approached Geralt, eyes wide and intense. "By the gods! What was that… _ _thing?!"__

Geralt glanced at the city skyline. "Clearly, the creature belonged to those wraith-like warriors."

Young man stepped toward him, then abruptly halted, a look of disgust on his face. "Ugh, man, you reek!"

If only he had a gold crown every time he heard that comment. Witchering was dirty, smelly work. "Thanks for your concern. I'm all right."

His gaze found the city's skyline again. The roaring grew distant when the ghostly cavalcade breached the city. He sucked in a breath at the realization. Their destination was Novigrad! All those unsuspecting people! What could they want? To overtake the north's largest and richest population? What then, the world?

He sheathed his blade and whistled for Roach. She cantered up to him from her hiding spot in the trees and snorted clouds of steam from her nostrils. Gripping the reins, he hauled himself up into the saddle.

Bearded man splayed his palms open before the horse, halting her. "Wait, Master. Where are you off in such a rush? Certainly not Novigrad!"

Although faint, piercing screams and hollers of city folk drifted across the valley. It sent shivers down his back. Thinking what the citizens faced now, he thought of Ciri. She needed him. He must get back to her... but… The city needed him too!

"All those people!" he breathed.

Bearded man grasped Roach's bridle. "There's nothing you can do to help, Master Witcher. Yes, I realize now who you are. No other man could have withstood a hound of the Wild Hunt like you did. Witcher or no, one man cannot save a city from this army."

The Wild Hunt…. Vaguely sounded familiar.

"They will return again on the next full moon."

Return? Next full moon…? They made frequent visits?

Geralt heaved a sigh. Bearded man was right, he couldn't possibly save a city by himself let alone against an army of spectral warriors. The legend… an ancient elven legend. What could they possibly want?

Roach danced nervously in place and Geralt gripped the reins taught and smoothed his palm down her neck soothing her as far as he could reach.

The distant cries faded to an eerie silence. The roaring thunder of many hooves quieted. The unnatural chill dissipated. All was still. Even the swirling mists ceased their otherworldly pulsations and hovered breathless over the soggy land as if waiting with baited breath for what might happen next.

The strange army had left. Now, there really was nothing he could do.

Younger man still stared at him with wide intense eyes. "What… what the hell are you…?"

"What am __I?"__ Geralt chuckled without humor. "A ghostly army flies by and you ask me what __I__ am?" he shook his head.

Bearded man did not even bother to reprimand younger dolt. "Witcher. Don't know what we woulda done had you not been here."

"Sorry about your comrade."

Bearded man sighed heavily. "He was a decent man, but his own foolishness got him killed."

"Make sure yours doesn't."

Geralt gazed towards the eastern horizon and the faintest line of gray low in the sky. He had better return to Ciri and Dandelion. He shook his head.

"Heed my advice," he offered. "Instead of taking advantage of innocent travelers, find real work. You'll respect yourselves more earning an honest living. Otherwise, you never know, a contract may be posted to bring you to justice and I… well, need the coin."

Bearded man swallowed, paling even more, and nodded.

Geralt tugged the reins turning Roach north. She was ready to spring forward, but he held her back a moment longer. "Best wait until daylight before you head back to the city. Won't be long."

The man nodded. "Thank you, Master."

As for who was hunting him, would have to wait. But he knew he was there trailing him expertly, almost as adeptly as Witchers hunt their contracts. He'd find him. At the right time, he'd stop him.

Grinding his teeth, he spurred Roach and flew like the ghostly visitors toward Yantra and Ciri, sick at the thought he had turned his back on an entire city.


	10. Chapter 10 - Remembrance

Summary: Ready for a different kind of action? I think Geralt is ;). Geralt meets up with Dandelion and Ciri at (original character) Chessa's homestead after his surprise encounter with the hound of the Wild Hunt. We get a glimpse into his heart and soul in recalling an intimate night with his lover of yore, Yennefer of Vengerberg. **Content WARNING! This chapter contains erotic material**

 **Chapter Text** ****CHAPTER TEN**** __Remembrance__

 _ _Fingers rake over his scalp like one caresses a purring kitten, leisurely and repeatedly, and he, eager as a kitten, responds in kind. The pleasurable tingles spike down the nape of his neck fairly eliciting a purr. If only he can. Instead, he quivers with the pleasure. Closing his eyes and sighing out a low moan, he kisses the crevice of her palm, then nudges it with his forehead for more. She obliges, grinning warmly.__

 _ _The familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries dominates his senses, sends him reeling with memories of her in similar fashion sprawled out on a plush white animal hide before the fire, naked... or along the back of the neck of the life-sized stuffed unicorn where she prefers to make love. Thankfully this time, she gave him a break from the animal and accommodated him in front of the large stone fireplace.__

 _ _A smooth white sheet drapes randomly over her breasts outlining their alluring rounded curves, and, ahhh… their hardened peeks poking through stirs him. Grasping a petite foot, he presses his lips in the dip just below her ankle bone. Slowly, sensually, he slides his hand up over the curvature of her calve, up and over the sharp incline of her kneecap, and continues up her slender thigh. A soft giggle escapes her lips and gooseflesh bumps up her leg before he reaches her hip. Her skin, silky smooth heightens his ardour.__

 _ _Peppering kisses along the juncture of her inner thighs, he inhales her intoxicating scent like one salivating over the aroma of a favorite home-cooked meal. It always has an immediate effect on him. Uniquely hers, it stirs in him emotions ranging from comfort to exhilaration, but right now, a soothing serene mood descends upon him anchoring his excitement.__

 _ _Soft tufts of hair tickles his nose. Hungering for her again, he nuzzles her, his growl is muffled against her skin. Mimicking the same slow and meaningful caress of her leg, he laps her slick core from bottom to tip, drawing out the motion, savoring her musky honey. She quivers again, merely a tremor after her explosive climax a few moments ago, and gasps a sharp intake of breath. Again, he tastes her with the same relish, this time giving attention to her most sensitive and pleasurable spot. A soft content purr follows and her fingertips dig into his scalp.__

 _ _He has already taken her tonight and the need to have her again so soon after… she'll think him an insatiable beast and turn him away, for sure. But, reality is, she never turns him away. He loves that about her.__

 _ _Stretching out beside her on the pelt, her taste lingers on his tongue. Closing his eyes, he licks his lips and enjoys the distinct flavor.__

 _ _She rolls into him, the points of her breasts brush against his side. In a purposefully seductive manner, she lifts a slender leg slow and steady, making a show of draping it over his thigh. Exhaling, he keeps breathing, especially when her knee rubs the side of his arousal. Shifting, she repositions her leg, then slides the bottom of her foot along the underside of his shaft. He sucks in a short breath. She utters a wicked chuckle.__

 _ _A fire crackling in the large stone hearth is dying down. The flames dance and spit casting dark shadows across the main living space of her home. Through a pair of French-style doors open to a patio surrounded by both flower and herb gardens, the distant hooting of an owl drifts through. The call is soothing and they both listen for a while, holding each other, until laughter from the streets of Vengerberg swell overpowering the nightbird. The evening is getting on, but a few hearty souls still meander about.__

 _ _Glistening violet eyes, though usually cold and imperial, pulses with a heated swirling warmth and he is lost in those turbulent depths once again. He smiles at her, fulfilled, and... peaceful. He lets out a deep sigh. It is not often he is relaxed enough to enjoy feeling content like this. Truth is, he is never content. Always longing for more, lusting for more… and when they part ways, like they do so often, he'll still hunger for her. Then he sets out on The Path always searching, forever hunting… ever needing more and never finding...__

 _ _Finding what?__

 _ _Fluffing long raven locks, she sighs, placing a kiss on his shoulder. With an arm around her, he hugs her tight in an embrace that molds her petite form to his. The warmth of the fire combined with her nearness, heats him more.__

 _"_ _ _What is it, darling?"__

 _"_ _ _Hmmm? Nothing."__

 _ _She leans up on an elbow and looks him in the eye. "You know as well as I, dear, that is a lie. Perhaps I should rephrase my question. What is it you are forever seeking?"__

 _ _Long and hard, he peers into her eyes, their swirling depths remind him of a storm over the ocean. Reading his mind is her custom, whether he likes it or not. He really ought to learn there is no keeping secrets from her.__

 _"_ _ _If I knew, Yen, I'd tell you. But maybe you can enlighten me."__

 _"_ _ _I can enlighten you on many things." A fingertip, smooth and gentle, trails down his cheek to rest on his bottom lip. He kissed it.__

 _ _Rolling on top of him, her soft breasts crush against his hard chest, her locks fall in a curtain about his head. Lilac and gooseberries surround him, the scent poignant and delicious. His head spins, his aching manhood demanding release again.__

 _ _She captures his lips in a fierce kiss, then ends it sweetly, caressing his cheek. "No one pleases me like you do, darling."__

 _ _He swells at her praise. Not one to compliment easily for anyone or anything, but when she does, it is sincere and well deserved. It is no small feat to earn her acclamation and respect. But-__

 _"_ _ _What sets you apart?" she voices his question aloud.__

 _"_ _ _You'd rather I not speak? Don't like the sound of my voice? Is that why you read my mind all the time?"__

 _"_ _ _Don't be daft. You have an incredibly sexy voice, love. So deep and raspy… sets me on fire. But back on topic. You take your time," she whispered with enthusiasm, her hand reaching down between her legs and wrapping her fingers around his shaft.__

 _ _He groaned.__

 _ _Squeezing and stroking him in an agonizingly slow rhythm robs him of the ability to breathe normally. Groaning, he grasps her head, his fingers entangles in her curls. With his eyes, he pleads an end to the delicious torment.__

 _ _Instead, with a controlled roll of her hips, she grinds her groin on his. He lets out a hiss.__

 _"_ _ _You're in no hurry at all. When we make love, Geralt, time bows to you. You are time's master and it must obey. I lose all sense of time and place. Do you realize what a rare and special gift that is?"__

 _ _He smiles secretly. He has especially pleased her tonight.__

 _ _Straightening up, the sheet falls away and she continues the merciless and arousing rotation. Her breasts and every inch of her glistens in the glow of the fire. Palms itching, he cups each perfect globe, letting his hands wander all over her pinkish skin. They are the most perfect breasts in the world. Not bulky and heavy, but round and delicate. Alluringly pert, they are just right. He slides his palms down her flat belly, dips a thumb in her navel, and rests his hands on her rounded hips.__

 _ _Her grinding grew faster and more demanding. "Men are in a hurry and within minutes…" she stops suddenly, "it's over," she sighs dramatically.__

 _ _Breathless, he throbs beneath her. Did he just whimper?__

 _"_ _ _But you, my love..." arching her back, she lifts her impressive mane of silky curls with both hands. He devours her femininity on display for his eyes only. Sitting up, he encircles her in his arms and takes a hardened nipple between his velvety lips. The familiar burn below becomes unbearable.__

 _ _With a gasp, she lets her tresses cascade over her shoulders, grabs his head, and crushes his face to her breasts. "You, my love, worship me all night long."__

 _ _He can say nothing but utter a guttural grunt.__

 _ _With surprising force, she shoves him back down against the pelt. He went without resistance. Trailing a flaming path down the chiseled planes of his chest and then over his flat belly, her fingertips tease the soft hairs below his navel. Hot tingling chills tightens his groin in painful pulsating throbs. He lifts his hips into her aching for release.__

 _ _In one quick and smooth motion, he grasps her by the hips and flips her onto her back. Outstretching her arms above her head, they entangle in the pillows. Long raven locks fan out in drastic contrast on the white animal hide.__

 _ _Yeah, he worships her. But who can blame him?__

 _ _Losing all perception of time and place always happens to him too whenever they are together. With her, he prefers to take his time, savor all the delicious heartstopping pleasure and draw it out as long as possible. Not just for his, but for her enjoyment as well. Every second he craves her. When it comes to her, he is greedy that way. He wants all of her.__

 _ _He smothers the valley between her breasts with tiny heated kisses. "Can't get enough of you," he breathes.__

 _ _He is ever searching for that which he never had.__

 _ _Scooching down, he tastes her navel, and can't resist filling the crevice with the tip of his tongue before kissing the side of a hip. Massaging her small round bottom, she purrs with his touch. Sighing, she arches her back in a distinctly feline stretch and opens her legs for him. It is all the invitation he needs.__

 _ _Drawing in a ragged breath, he rolls her onto her belly and sinks into slick warmth losing himself in a sea of shapely legs, silky curls, the titillating scent of lilac and gooseberries, and a bottom as delicious as her breasts.__

 _ _No other sensation brings him greater pleasure than being enveloped in her. Deep. It is like coming home after being gone for a long… terribly long time. It is reconnecting with the remembered yesteryears, the familiar smells and sights of a childhood long gone, but knowing that here, in this place with this enchanting woman, is forever his and no one can take it away from him.__

 _ _Despite the pain of their tumultuous relationship, she fascinates him. Excites him with her wit, charm, intelligence, strength of character, and of course, her rare and unique beauty intoxicates him, makes him forget who he is. This is why he takes his time. Yes, he worships her and admits it without shame, because she will have him, lets him have her. Why a powerful sorceress can be passionate with him, a simple Witcher who does the dirty work none other can, is beyond his understanding. He tries not to think about it, just accepts the fact she wants him as much as he hungers for her, no, burns for her, and needs these rare moments to last a lifetime even though the reality of that dream is nothing more than a fantasy.__

 _ _Things have been going well lately, which means anytime now, their world will explode in a windstorm of pain and rage like it usually does. He knows better to think that is not coming around the corner.__

 _ _But for now, he forces that thought away and focuses on this moment. His large hands caress the curvature of her hips, then sliding up her thin waist, he rocks into her harder, faster.__ Please, he breathes deep in his soul. Don't let this night end...

 _ _Her breaths become sighs, then moans, as do his.__ Yen... I need you.

 _ _"You have me, darling," she pants.__

 _ _He shakes his head.__ No, you don't understand... I don't understand... my need is so deep...

 _ _Peeking over her shoulder, glittering eyes shine sea blue with desire. She shoots him a sharp knowing glare before closing them and succumbing to the pleasure again. "Am I not enough for you, love?"__

 _ _He barely hears her broken whisper, but his soul does. If he can be with her permanently, he will not desire other women. For no other woman matters. Those others are merely temporary replacements. "You are," he grinds out in a hoarse voice.__ But he needs... something more. Something possibly no one is able to fulfill.

 _ _She smiles amidst a moan. Arching her back, her hand reaches behind her head searching for him. Leaning towards it, her fingers scrape over his scalp scratching his head as if she were petting a kitten. He nudged her hand for more, purring silently in his own way.__

 _ _Stretching out over her small body, he brushes aside tresses dark as night exposing her creamy pale neck. She turns glancing over her shoulder, lips parted. Clutching her chin, he holds her prisoner and captures her ruby lips in a sensuously long kiss. She responds in kind, the tenderness she shows so rarely racks him to the deepest reaches of his soul.__

 _ _Her climax shatters her in waves of powerful spasms that thrusts him along on the ride. Breathless, he holds her through the wild quaking while she vocalizes her pleasure. Every muscle in her body convulses, inside and out.__

 _ _Then suddenly, he explodes, quaking just as powerfully, his release shaking him to the center of his being. Leaning over her back, he clutches her trembling form to his chest and they shake together, as one, letting the tingling heat coarse through their joined bodies.__

 _"_ _ _Yen…" he hums burying his face in her fragrant curls.__

The moment he opened his eyes, the magic of the memory vanished on sight of the wooden rafters above. His ears rang with the sound of his own moans. He heaved a sigh, the hollowness inside paralyzing after the peacefulness experienced with the dream. Yennefer was gone, her cozy plush home in Vengerberg… gone, the idea of them… nothing but a memory. He was alone, just as he had anticipated that night. It did not take long after what was their last night together before they called it quits, for who knew how long, if ever they would come together again. Their parting was bitter, with harsh words meant to hurt - and hers still stung.

Hues of ruby red rays of the setting sun beamed in through the only window in the loft setting the upper level of the small barn on fire with its glow. Piles of hay along the outer wall insulated the area keeping it warm from the cool autumn nights. Another pelt over in the corner must be where Dandelion slept. A scratched up square wood table sat in the corner next to the railing with a single lit pillar, his medallion, daggers, and armor strewn about it. The saddlebags were tossed on the floor near the front table legs. Both swords laid propped up against the railing at the loft's edge.

Rubbing his eyes, he rolled over on his stomach and rested his head on a forearm. The plush animal hide that served as a bed soft and soothing against his skin. Birds finished their songs and quieted for the night. Stillness, peacefulness all around.

Damn, the dream was so real… And his physical reaction was real. Excruciatingly real. His heart rate strong and rapid slowed to a more normal pace, but his desire, however, not so much. The familiar burning ache would be the death of him.

Recalling now where he was, he heaved a sigh full of regret and longing. He might as well face it. Chances were he'd blown any chance for a future with Yen. At least a permanent one. For the rest of his life, he'd be alone. He had always known that, always… feared it. After nearly a century, he should be used to it by now. Doubted he'd ever love anyone with the same passion as Yen, and the thought he could never vocalize bubbled up from within again. With a quick shake of his head, he shook off the thought, stuffing it back down far enough to never surface again.

A horse whinnied softly below. Roach. He chuckled to himself and raked fingers through his long tousled hair. He always had Roach. She was his most faithful companion and she reminded him she was there.

But besides his mare, he welcomed being alone for the moment. Shoving aside the blanket, he laid for a moment longer, completely nude. It was wonderful. The only times he slept like this was at Kaer Morhen or… Yen's house, and any place safe from the dangers of the road. He closed his eyes and listened to the birds outside, until his stomach rumbled.

A creak sounded, and a click of a boot heel, followed by a clink. Instinct kicked in. Instead of covering his bare backside, he rolled over and reached for his blade. His fingers wrapped around the hilt before common sense dawned on him. Of course he did not need a weapon. This was a safe place, but old habits die hard.

"I… I've startled you. Forgive me." Chessa stood by the wall near the ladder, her slate-blue skirts hiked up in one hand revealing high-heeled black laced-up leather boots and in her other hand, a small round container and a handkerchief concealing… something. Maybe food? Her blue-eyed gaze raked over him before her cheeks flamed red.

The ache just became more demanding. He glanced away before she detected something more than curiosity in his eyes. Letting go of the sword, it rattled against the railing, and he sat back tossing the blanket over his lap not embarrassed by his nakedness or the arousal so evident it was difficult to hide. He did it more for her sake than his. Modesty never suited him.

"Don't worry about it."

She took a step closer and appeared breathless. "Came to check on you. You've slept all day… But then, you needed it, apparently."

He nodded. Did he ever. "Thank you. For taking care of Cir… Serena and letting us stay here for a day or so. I'm grateful."

She came closer stepping into the rays of the setting sun. The beams highlighted her dark hair a deep auburn and it glistened in the light. It also lit her blue eyes from within and its rich hue dazzled him. He caught his breath.

Crouching down beside the pelt, she laid the handkerchief on the edge of the hide. The low neckline of her bodice revealed the promise hidden beneath. He averted his gaze, reluctantly.

"It's nothing much, but… I wasn't sure if you were awake yet. Just some bread and cheese. A proper meal awaits whenever you come down."

"I'll pay for your hospitality and inconvenience. It was unexpected and you've been generous."

She waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm not worried about coin."

He eyed her for a moment. How couldn't she be? She was supporting herself here, and though her homestead was decent enough, she certainly did not appear that well off.

"Many cannot pay with coin, so they reciprocate in other ways. That's how this barn got built, and an addition added to my house. And others pay with chickens. Some pay with…" Cheeks pink, she smiled, although did not complete her sentence.

"With what?" he breathed leaning closer. She smelled of a conglomerate of flowers and herbs, but the sweet exotic verbena was the most distinct scent. He smiled. Verbena always reminded him of Essi Daven, or Little Eye as Dandelion had called her.

"Folks repay me in whatever manner they are able."

"I can pay with coin." His voice sounded lower and raspier than normal. He cleared his throat.

She frowned ever so slightly.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Her outstretched hand opened revealing a small round container in her palm. "For you."

He picked it up. Her fingertips grazed the sensitive underside of his wrist and the sensation tingled down his arm. Her deep blue eyes glinted with an inner fire.

"What is it?" He inspected it then twisted off the lid. A strong pleasant aroma caught his nose. Coconut oil. And… aloe. He recognized it immediately. "A soothing topical ointment." How'd she know?

Eyes bright in the gathering darkness, she nodded. Her flaming hair darkened before his eyes as the rays lowered below the windowsill. "You know what you smell. It's for the chafing."

He grinned and chuckled. "I'd ask how you knew, but then again, you're a healer. It's what you do."

She smiled sweetly. The loft became brighter for it. "Just assumed, really… Your armor is all leather and you arrived pretty soaked to the bone. Just a hunch."

He laughed. "Yeah, well… your hunch was correct." He held up the container. "This will get used up pretty quickly."

"And I'll have more when you need it."

Leaning in closer, she frowned slightly, her gaze fixed on his chest. "So many scars… You must be a dangerous man."

"Have a dangerous occupation." He watched her watching him. Intently. His breathing became more rapid and shallow.

Scanning over his chest again, her gaze finally met his. "Are there any that... need attention?"

Shaking his head, he immediately regretted it. That could have been an opening… an invitation, really. Damn, what was he thinking? Just because she was attractive and he was already aroused didn't mean she'd jump in the sack with him. Envisioning himself taking a leap in the frigid pond, he forced the thought as far away as possible. Cold. Pond. Cool himself off or he'd have to…

"Why is a young girl traveling with a dangerous man and a flamboyant troubadour?"

Her total change of topic threw him off and no-nonsense tone cooled him as if he had just jumped in the water.

Shifting to her knees, she looked at him at eye level. Her expression lost its merriment and grew serious. "I know Serena is not her real name, but it's the name your bard friend gave me. You are keeping her identity a secret-"

"For good reason."

"I imagine so. She's a troubled girl. Something traumatic happened and I have an idea what-"

"More than one…"

Chessa clamped her mouth closed taken aback. "She's frightened beyond understanding, Geralt, and continued to call out for you. When she awoke she went into hysterics because you were not around. I had to administer sleeping agents to keep her calm. It's only now that you are here, she has relaxed. Such a change has come over her since you've arrived."

He glanced out the window. The pond behind the homestead glowed reddish-pink in the dying light. Its appeal diminished. He swiped a hand over his eyes and sighed. "She is attached to me. I bring her comfort. I don't know why or how… Only eleven years old and she's been through too much already."

"You make her feel safe, that's why. She knows with you, she is protected. That makes a huge impression on a young frightened girl. But, you still haven't answered my question."

"Chessa, your hospitality is greatly appreciated. Just know that... Serena," he paused stumbling over the name he wasn't used to. But Dandelion only did as he bade. "Serena is safe with us. We are secretive to protect her, but also to protect you. There may come a time you'll thank me for this. As long as she is able, we'll be out of your hair as soon as I can shoe my horse and get some supplies."

"Then you can leave sooner than you think. Your friend took your horse to the village while you slept. Your mare is shoed and he also bought supplies enough for a long journey."

Geralt forked a hand through his hair. Dandelion did all that?

"I've also provided new pants for Serena since hers were... ruined. Sometimes when patients don't... make it, their clothing comes in handy for others that do."

"Add the pants to my tab."

"I've also given her warmer clothes. Winter's nigh approaching, you know."

The chastisement in her tone was unmistakable.

"Clearly, she is not your daughter, nor the bard's. You don't know the first thing about taking care of another person, let alone a young girl."

Geralt flinched, imperceptible to her, but he did nonetheless at her accurate assessment. What the hell, was he talking to Yennefer? Deflated in more ways than one, he didn't need this lecture or the tone that reminded him so much of the sorceress. But she wasn't through.

"So help me, give me one good reason why I don't take you to the authorities and take possession of the girl myself? Why should I release this troubled child to the likes of you two? What do you plan to do with her?"

He met her gaze steadily. "I know you mean well, Chessa. And you're right, she is not my daughter. And I don't know the first thing about taking care of a child but have no choice but to learn real fast. There are things going on far beyond your understanding of this situation. Potentially dangerous ones for her and anyone who's in our path. She is coming with me because I've sworn to protect her. I'm taking her someplace safe."

That quieted her. She held his gaze, the fire in her blue depths softening some. She exhaled slowly and glanced at his swords propped against the railing.

"I've judged you both harshly, I know, but I needed to make sure Serena, or whatever is her real name, is safe with you. You could be a heartless brute with nothing but dark twisted desires. But I can see you speak the truth. Your eyes don't lie."

She rose to her feet and tossed her long wavy mane behind her slender shoulders. "You can stay as long as necessary."

"Not planning on staying, but the invitation is appreciated. We have a long journey ahead before winter comes, you understand."

She gave him one last long penetrating gaze before retreating down the ladder. He sat there, the blanket over his lap, sniffing the remnants of verbena in the air. It was not lilac and gooseberries, but because of a certain petite blonde with blue-eyes, the sweet scent held a special place in his heart.

Essi. Little-Eye. Dandelion's musical friend. He smiled at the memory of their whirlwind romance and how Dandelion... bought supplies and reshoed his horse...

Cursing, he flung off the blanket and stood. A constricted gasp from below drew his attention. He turned, gripped the rail, and gazed down into the center of the barn. Chessa stood there, staring up at him without shame, her eyes glittering and intense in the torchlight, her lips parted. Even from this distance, the verbena combined with her heated gaze had the same effect on him as it did with Essi. He was a fool, he knew it, but… damn it, he was a man, and a Witcher to boot.

She was up the ladder in a flash, her chest heaving with rapid shallow breaths. Taking a step closer, she swallowed, her skin flushed, her eyes never wavering. Trembling fingers unlaced the opening of her bodice. His breath caught in his lungs. At first sight of bared breasts, he was helpless.

Grasping her wrist, he yanked her against him, her petite form offering no resistance. She gasped, splayed her hands along his chest, then raked long slender fingers through his hair. His lips covered her face, collarbone, breasts, belly, hip, and thigh as he peeled the dress off her trembling form and laid her down on the soft bed of fur. Burying his nose in her wavy tresses, the delicate floral scent engulfed him.

He took her with pent-up fervor, without regrets, without recalling the earlier dream or the raven-haired sorceress. She in turn, matched his eagerness with creative energy of her own. And when they were through, he loved her again, taking more time about it, and she was just as enthusiastic the second time.

Twilight had settled outside, that time of night that everything was highlighted in shades of gold and pink. They laid on their sides, spent, breathing deeply. Lying behind her, he molded his form to hers and draped an arm over her waist. Filling a palm with a breast, he fondled them while they cooled down. She sighed, arching her back and raking fingers through her hair.

"Come downstairs and eat," she purred. "You must be famished."

"I was... and I am."

She turned toward him and grinned. "Well, now that I've satisfied one hunger," she planted a velvety kiss on his lips, "let me satisfy another before Dandelion comes looking for us."

Scratching an ear, he groaned, rolling onto his back. He had completely forgotten about Ciri and Dandelion! Some protector and friend he was. "Right. Should check on Ciri again."

He should have gotten up and started dressing without looking at her, but instead, he laid there, watching her pull on her dress. The fabric spilled over her shoulders and disappointment filled him when it covered her breasts before plunging in a rippling wave to her ankles. It was a shame fabric had to hide such a lovely figure.

"She'd like that."

He almost did not hear her. Focusing on what she said rather than how sexy she looked with disheveled hair and the reason why it was in that condition, he remembered something she had said earlier. "Add the extra clothing for Ciri and meals to my tab."

With a wicked grin, she took a good long look over his bare body, stalling at a certain area before meeting his gaze again. "Oh, I planned on it." With that, she turned and retreated down the ladder.


	11. Chapter 11 - Impossible Dreams

Summary: A glimpse into the heart and dreams of our favorite Witcher, tender moments with Ciri laced with apprehension, and an unexpected turn that sends Geralt reeling for answers.

 **Chapter Text** CHAPTER ELEVEN _ _ ** **Impossible Dreams****__

"There see? You're properly shoed and feel much better now, huh?" Geralt cooed, sliding his palms down Roach's forelegs. She didn't flinch at his touch, that was good. No muscle knots, tender spots, or cuts either. He'd know it if she was sore from the distance and speed he forced her without horseshoes. Good, she was fine and that relieved him greatly.

Coaxing her to lift a leg, he inspected her hoof and the new horseshoe. Decent quality and properly in place - solid work by a professional. __You did well, friend.__ She nudged his shoulder when he stood up. Stroking the bridge of her nose, he touched his forehead to hers. Like silk, the bangs of her mane were smooth on his skin. "Yeah, you do feel better don't ya?"

Brushing her down, he whistled a tune Dandelion had strummed earlier after dinner. It was the first time in a while he felt this good. Rested, relaxed, and hunger satiated… in more ways than one… Too bad they couldn't stay here a little while longer. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad delaying another day.

Truly a peaceful and scenic homestead Chessa had here. For awhile, he had dreamt that someday, Yen and he would have a similar living arrangement, a nice cottage or villa off the beaten path that he'd build himself, with flower and herb gardens for an endless supply for her potions and his Witcher elixirs. He nodded. Yeah, and a nice body of water too for skinny dipping at midnight, not too large and sprawling like the mountain lake at Kaer Morhen, but just cozy enough to take a small boat out to go fishing… He'd build her a shop, attached to the house, and larger than her existing one, of course, complete with an alchemy lab enabling her to sell all sorts of magical and magically enhanced items. She'd tend to women in need of magical medical experience to help them conceive like she had always done on the side.

And he would… He paused with the brushing.

He had often mused about what he would he do besides make love to her all night long. Gardening was not completely foreign to him, but he never really did take the time to learn more about it. Vesemir was the gardener. Farming was another option. But could he till the fields day in and day out? He shook his head. Doubted it. Too monotonous. He needed an occupation that would earn an income for he would not live off Yen entirely, but one that would not take him away from her for long periods of time like Witchering often did. Unless, he could pick and choose his contracts that would keep him close to home. Or... he could instruct swordplay. He was a master swordsman. What's wrong with training young men or even garrisons to be effective fighters? That could bring in a handsome income. Being a Witcher could open up many doors or none at all. Only time will tell.

At any rate, however he'd decide to earn a living, they'd be well off. Yen was advisor to King Demavend of Aedirn and along with her shop, she helped women overcome their infertility. She had gained a respectable reputation over the years. It was a vocation that had proved extremely lucrative and who knew so many women needed help conceiving? Well, enough, and there was no price they wouldn't pay.

Such a shame she couldn't cure herself.

Roach shook her head and whinnied softly.

"Sorry, girl. Tug too hard on your hair?"

After all the women, and including some men, she had helped couples start families. That deserved some reward. It was a rare instance that a sorceress conceived and sadly, Yen was not one of them - although Geralt's mother was the rare exception.

Not able to become a mother was the one detriment that had always haunted Yen as she watched the women she helped bear children months later. But no matter what she did or how hard she tried, no matter the cost involved in searching for that elusive potion or magical formula, the miracle she craved evaded her. And would always.

It was the sacrifice for her magic, much like his sterility the result of his Witcher mutations, for anything altering the natural always demanded a hefty price. Damage to the reproductive system was almost always that cost. And it did not discriminate.

As much as it killed him to see her bear this heartache, there was nothing he could do but support her in her search for a cure. He had helped fund her experiments and efforts, survived the fury of her wrath when hope proved futile, and held her tight, soothing her when she soaked his shirt with bitter tears.

"Ah, Geralt… this is where you disappeared to."

Dandelion, his lute slung over a shoulder, approached and laid a hand on Roach's flank.

"Just making sure she's all right."

The bard patted Roach in a loving manner. "The stable master in the village assured me she was."

"She is." Geralt returned the brush to its storage place and stroked her soft mane. "You're a good friend to have taken care of her while I rested. It was appreciated, Dandelion. Thank you." Geralt extended his hand toward him.

Smiling, the bard grasped his arm in a firm shake. "It was the least I could do. I'm here for you, you know that. It's what friends do."

"Chessa told me you purchased supplies for the journey as well. You didn't have to do that, but I'm glad you did."

"They're packed away in your saddlebags."

Geralt nodded. "What do I owe you? Sure that had to cost a pretty copper."

"Nothing."

Geralt stared at Dandelion. "No, I'm serious. I mean to pay for it. How much did it cost you?"

"Geralt, my friend, don't worry about it. You owe me nothing and I won't take a copper, you understand?"

"Dandel-"

Sweet verbena tickled his senses. He glanced toward the entrance. Chessa walked toward them and tugged a hand-knitted shawl over her shoulders.

"I didn't mean to intrude…" she began, flushing slightly.

"Nonsense, my dear," Dandelion glanced at her and back at him. After a moment's silence, he feigned a great yawn, bowed slightly, and excused himself claiming he was dead tired and wanted to retire for the night. He disappeared up the ladder to the loft, his lute thumping against his back.

Geralt gestured for them to head for the door. "Dinner was delicious."

Her cheeks pinkened and she offered a kind nod, her expression turning to one of concern.

It turned serious now, he sighed inwardly closing the barn door behind them. Gone was the lighthearted camaraderie they experienced through dinner while Dandelion entertained them with stories and ballads. Her mood was somber now.

"What's wrong?"

"Go to Serena. She needs you right now."

His heart thudded in his chest. "Is she all right? What happened?"

"Don't misunderstand, she's fine, although, I saw her strolling by the pond. She seemed, well… moody. Maybe you ought to…"

"You're right. Was going to spend some time with her anyway. Seems now's the best time."

"I'll leave you two alone, but I'll be near if you need me. Just call."

"I will."

Geralt found Ciri sitting by the pond, staring out across the water black and smooth as glass. Dressed like a boy, she wore brown trousers, high leather fur-lined boots, and a cotton tunic underneath a soft lambskin jacket. The clothing was decent enough, but in obvious places, just a bit large, but it would do. Good thing Chessa had enough sense not to dress her in skirts.

He sat down on the damp ground next to her. He gazed across the pond. The deep bassy croaking of many frogs filled the otherwise quietness of the night. "Mind if I join you?"

She shot a quick glance at him, a shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, and continued staring out across the water.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

He groaned inwardly. Ugh, that tone. Usually, when a woman says she's fine in a curt short statement always meant she was anything but. Playfully, he jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow. She did not react. "If you need to talk, I'm all ears."

She paused a moment. "Why does she call me Serena? In fact, in her presence you all do. Don't like it."

The stars visible between the clouds sparkled on the glass-like water. "I had asked Dandelion to keep your identity hidden and that was the name he'd come up with. He only did what I asked, don't be mad at him."

"Why do I have to be a secret? I'm a princess," she reminded him.

"That's exactly why. You're special. Just want to protect you. The fewer people who recognize us and know where we're going, the safer for us all." He paused and swallowed a lump that just lodged in his throat. It wasn't easy talking to a young girl, especially a princess. "But that's not all that is bothering you, is it?"

She tossed a pebble into the water and they watched it skip across the surface as far as it would go before sinking to the bottom. Small waves rippled in an arc away from where the stone had skimmed the water.

"No," she grumbled.

Her lips drew taught in the pout of the century and Geralt hid a grin. Amidst the grass, his fingers found a small rock and he chucked it over the water's surface. It sunk immediately to the bottom. She giggled.

"That's what I like to hear."

She grew quiet again and laid her head against his shoulder.

"Come on, something's bothering you. What is it?"

"What that man wanted to do to me."

He paused a long moment. Oh, hell. Was he able to talk about this? With her? It was uncomfortable, damned uncomfortable for both of them. Awkward, and a bit nervous, he gently wrapped and arm around her back. When she didn't flinch but snuggled up closer, he breathed out in relief. Good, he didn't scare her.

"You hesitate," she accused, despite the show of warmth. "But you know. I know you do."

"Of course I know, Ciri. And I didn't let it happen."

"But... but what would have happened if you hadn't shown up when you did?"

Sighing, he pressed her closer. "Let's not think about that. It didn't happen, and the slug is dead. Got what he deserved."

A small arm stretched across his back. He melted at her show of affection. It was something he was not used to and… suddenly made him consciously aware his childhood severely lacked this kind of pure unconditional affection. The result was a hollow knot in his stomach accompanying an acute sense of loss. It was a sensation he did not care for.

She pressed her cheek into his shirt which muffled her voice. "He… he touched me, Geralt. Where no man has ever touched…"

Her voice broke and a sudden ache crushed his chest. He balled one hand into a fist and pressed her closer with the other in a protective and compassionate gesture surprising even him.

"I'm sorry, Ciri," he grated out with a knot in his throat. "That I didn't get there sooner."

Quiet for a long while, neither of them spoke. He simply held her, gazing out at the pond and listened to the frogs and a symphony of cicadas singing their tales of longing and elation. Then he caught her heart beat, strong and rapid, and her breathing increased. Then she began to speak again, her voice soft and full of emotion.

"There's something wrong with me, Geralt. It... Oh, I'm a… a horrible person-"

"Don't be ridiculous," he interrupted. "Why would you think that?"

"I hated him for what he did… w-what he tried to do…" She sniffled against his shirt.

"No one is blaming you for that. It's normal to feel that way."

"But…" she cut herself off and squeezed him in a gripping hug, her face buried in his chest.

Gazing down on fair hair sparkling in the twilight, he held her tight. The aura she emanated at the moment was as convoluted as her feelings. A great deal of anxiety, shame, and… anger, emanated from her. He took a chance and rubbed his palm down her back and slid it up to rest at the nape of her neck. Good, she accepted his touch for it had occurred to him she might never want a man to ever lay hands on her again. But she allowed him. This was indeed encouraging.

"But what?" he prompted.

Her hair moved in a wave and slid over her shoulder covering her face when she shook her head against his chest. All he got was another sniffle.

"If you can't talk about it, we don't have to." He really did not know what else to say. Offering encouragement and support to a young girl was foreign to him, but he wanted to help, offer what little he had to strengthen her spirit.

"When he…"

The rest of her words were lost against his shirt, however, he didn't want to disrupt the courage it took to speak her deepest thoughts and feelings. Silent, he listened and stroked her back. What was she trying to tell him?

"Is that wrong?"

Floundering, he had no idea what she had said, but it was something that bothered her, that was certain. He swallowed, not able to answer.

"Is it wrong, Geralt?"

Lifting her head, she gazed right at him, her eyes, large and round, misted over with unshed tears daring him to answer, yet afraid of it all the same. He swallowed. Dammit, what should he say?

"You're not answering! It __is__ wrong! There __is__ something wrong with me!"

Hands dug in his thighs using him for leverage to scramble to her feet. She meant to flee and instinctually, and without thinking, he snapped a hand around her slim wrist preventing her from taking off. The move jarred her, jerked her backwards, and fear overwhelmed her. Falling back into his lap, she fought against him bursting into tears. Immediately, his arms surrounded her, clutching her close against him while cooing softly in her ear, rocking back and forth, murmuring apologies for scaring her and assurances there was nothing wrong with her and she was not a horrible person, no matter what she might think.

Eventually, she calmed down and composed herself, clearly grateful for his compassion. Shifting in his lap, she threw her arms around his neck.

Something broke inside him. He had no way to express what exactly, but this soft girl, her clean hair smelling of verbena and an assortment of other herbs clung to her just from being inside Chessa's fragrant home… so innocent and pure, she deserved to be freed from this… hellish turn her life had taken.

He would do anything for this little lady just to see her smile and hear her laughter. She hadn't been with him a month and already she had had an affect on him. Proving that he __did__ feel, the heartless Witcher that so many accused him of being, __did__ possess a heart and a soul that ached for others enduring pain.

Adjusting her on his lap so she could look him in the eye, he wiped away tears from her soft cheek with a calloused thumb and waited for her to meet his gaze. When she finally found the courage, he firmly stated, "It was not your fault, Ciri. And I don't want you believing it was. The bastard was scum, a poor excuse for human decency and I…" he balled up and released the fist he just made, but did not finish his sentence. Perhaps he shouldn't.

"What?" she breathed, her full attention locked on him.

He scratched an eyebrow and sighed. "I'm an honest man, Ciri. I'm not going to lie to you. I took great pleasure in killing him because of what he… what he meant to do to you. Wanted the worst fate for him."

She stared, hard and unblinking. "So did I."

She turned her face then towards the water and he studied her profile. Without blinking, she fixed her gaze over the pond. The twilight glistened upon her hair, defined cheekbones, and long straight nose, a face so young and pleasing, so innocent, but her eyes… He swallowed, frowning. Her unusually emerald eyes were as sharp and cold as the rock from which the gem was cut. Completely void of emotion. He clenched his jaw, an unpleasant feeling crept over him.

When next she spoke, sickly chills raced down his spine for her voice matched the coldness of her eyes. "I only wished I had killed him myself." She looked him right in the eyes and his soul wept. "And I would've. I would have found a way."

 _ _No…__ his heart cried. Clutching her to him, he wrapped his arms tight around her again, enveloping her, his hand held her head to his chest. He couldn't begin to imagine what she felt, what she was going through, but to be eleven years old and to wish to have killed the man who attempted rape - was not the path she should go down even if she was justified in those feelings. Revenge was a slippery slope and one he knew all too well. He hugged her tighter as if his body, his arms, his soul could protect her from all things evil, from anything and everything she would encounter that would make her want to follow a dark path.

He had no memory of his father and the image of his mother hazy at best. The only family he had ever known were the trainers of Kaer Morhen and other boys his age that had survived the horrific mutation process and mind-numbing sorcery that had twisted and formed them into enhanced monster hunters. He had endured rigorous trainings that some would consider inhumane to prepare him for the life of a Witcher… but this… No, this was not her path, should not be her destiny. She was not a killer and he would do everything he could to prevent her from becoming one.

Suddenly, everything he had planned concerning her felt so wrong. Perhaps taking her to Kaer Morhen was not the best plan, but what was he supposed to do with her? He couldn't take her on monster hunts, nor could he leave her alone or drop her off with one of his lady friends… He wasn't on speaking terms with Yennefer, so she was out of the question.

Deep within his own thoughts, he almost did not hear speak, her voice muffled against his tunic.

"Don't leave me, Geralt."

Her breath was warm against his skin. Finding the opening in his shirt, her fingers crawled up his chest to entwine in his long hair. She played with the white strands, letting his tresses slip between the valleys of her fingers. A strange sensation came over him.

"Please. Don't ever leave me."

His medallion trembled, but it always did with her nearness. But why a sense of… foreboding?

"I won't," he promised, not sure he could live up to that vow, but deep inside he would protect her for however long he could.

"I'm scared, Geralt," she sniffled. "So scared."

The pendant vibrated more urgently. He glanced around, sharpening his eyes and ears for anything out of place. He didn't detect anything. Yet.

"I know. I'm here, Ciri. I'll always be here. And Dandelion too whenever he comes for a visit. He likes you." He felt her smile against his chest.

She wiped away tears. "I like him too. He's amusing."

"That he is," he chuckled.

Pulling her head back, she glanced at him with a serious and questioning gaze. "Geralt… Something's not... I don't feel right."

Indeed, her aura changed, he sensed it becoming strong and intense. His medallion rattled against his sternum. What the hell was going on?

"It hurts, down here."

She pressed a palm to her groin.

Alert now, he urged her off his lap and rose to his feet, his fingers twitching to grasp a sword. But his swords were in the house. Dammit. He glanced behind them toward Chessa's home and then at the barn. All seemed normal and undisturbed.

Ciri cried out and doubled over in obvious distress. "Geralt," she gasped, clutching her belly and dropped to the ground on all fours.

The atmosphere seemed to change too, became more dense and thick. Worried that the spectral army may make another appearance, he lifted her up. "Taking you back."

He carried her toward the house. Slowly increasing his pace, he scanned the landscape, the horizon, the sky, alert for any sounds and smells. Only the frogs and cicadas made any noise. Even the leaves settled in the stillness. Nothing moved.

He hugged her closer. It could also be their unidentified pursuer. Would he finally reveal himself tonight? Every instinct screamed that was very probable.

Chessa settled Ciri down in bed. She swallowed the last sip of an elixir to calm and relax the pain in her lower belly.

Geralt sat down beside her and she reached for his hand. Taking hold of it, he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand until she slipped into sleep quick and easily, much to his relief. Gingerly, he pulled his hand away and tucked the covers under her chin.

"Did you have a good talk out there?" Chessa whispered.

She snuffed out a candle near the table where they had eaten dinner. He moved to extinguish the pillar beside the bed, but she laid a hand on his arm and shook her head.

"She prefers the light."

Leaving it alone, he nodded toward the door communicating silently for her to follow him outside. His sword belt was propped against the wall and his leather jerkin draped over the back of a chair. He took them quietly so as not to awaken Ciri. Chessa followed him out onto the porch.

"What do you think is wrong with her?" he asked quietly after she closed the door behind her.

"Hard to say. The pain centers low, in her uterus. How old is she?"

"Eleven. Could be going on twelve, but... ah, don't really know when her birthday is. I know it's sometime in the spring, around Belleteyn, I believe, if my math is correct."

"It's possible it's the very beginnings of menstruation."

Geralt stared at her unblinking, then glanced out over the yard, heaving a sigh. Just what he needed. "Now?"

"She is of the age, you know. Anywhere from ten to sixteen years old a girl can get her monthly bleeds. I don't think it'll happen just yet. She might feel aches down there for a while before anything appears."

He raked fingers through his long and loose strands.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"She's angry and confused. Saw a new side to her tonight and that has me concerned." Lowering his gaze to the floor, he murmured, "A direct result of the horror she endured in Novigrad."

Chessa laid a hand on his arm. "She was raped, wasn't she?"

The tightness in her voice got to him. "Almost."

A hiss escaped her clenched teeth. "I'd guessed as much. Damn men and their uncontrolled lust-" she stopped herself with fingers covering her mouth. "I'm sorry… I…"

"He was a low-life scum and he's roasting in hell now thanks to me." He shrugged on his jerkin and clasped many buckles and tightened straps. "Saved her before the worst of it, but enough was done to shake her… maybe even scar her for life…" he let his voice trail off not finishing his thought. "She was violated, plain and simple. I wager she'll never trust another man again, or at the very least, not for a long time."

"She definitely trusts you," she countered with hope. "And Dandelion."

"We may be the only men she'll ever trust. Only time will tell." He strapped on his sword belt and adjusted the buckles.

"Where are you going at this hour?"

"Search the perimeter. Want to make sure there are no surprises tonight."

Stepping closer, she tugged the shawl around her arms tighter, her delicate fragrance grew stronger the closer she came. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. Short, he thought to himself. Petite, a small build, smaller than even Yennefer. That observation sent fire through his veins, although he had no idea why.

Her eyes filled with concern, she glanced out over the yard. "You think there might be trouble? Here?" Her gaze whipped back to him. "Are __you__ in trouble?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Should I be worried?" Her voice was tight.

"Too early to tell. Stay here. Watch over Ciri." He bit his tongue. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. He just gave away her real name. There was no taking it back nor any sense in worrying about it. He had other potentially dangerous things to think about now.

Pulling all his hair back into a ponytail, he looked at her. "Do you have a weapon of any kind?"

Paling before him, she nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Good. Keep it near. Don't venture out of the house no matter what you hear out here, understand? And don't open the door for anyone except Dandelion or me."

She nodded again, her eyes wide and serious.

Just to be safe and thorough, he pulled a dagger from its sheath strapped to his thigh. "Here, take this, just in case."

He presented the hilt. Reluctant to take it, she did finally.

"I'll be back in about a half hour. If I don't return in one hour, get Dandelion to take you two to the village without delay."

She swallowed and her face lost more color, if that were possible.

"In fact, I'll send him over here now. I want him with you two."

She remained silent, watching him, her fingers clutching her shawl.

The potion bottles on his chest strap were all secured. "Listen. Nothing can happen to Ciri. Please… keep her safe..."

"I understand," she whispered laying a hand on his chest. "I know we really don't know each other well, but I trust you, Witcher. Rest assured, you can trust me."

He fixed his gaze on her. The silvery light lit half her face in stark contrast to the other half lost in shadow. Her eyes shone black as a moonless night staring up at him, full of sincere concern.

Trouble was, he found it difficult to trust anyone other than his closest friends and fellow Witcher brothers. He'd been burned too often in the past to freely trust. One had to earn it. But Chessa had done nothing to make him not trust her, and she had helped Ciri and had been generous in hosting them.

A pang of regret stabbed his gut. The last thing he wanted was to endanger her. The pang followed by an ache settled deep in his belly. An ache for an opportunity to stay with this enchanting herbalist and find out what kind of life they could make together. It was time to move on. Yennefer was in the past and would likely stay there. She'd never have him back, he was certain of it. But this lady... she desired him as he desired her and why couldn't they live happily here together?

A tingle shot through him. Reaching for her, he splayed his fingers through her wild waves and clutched the back of her head. Pulling her flush against him, she came willingly, her face tilted up, eyes scorching, and lips slightly parted. Ah, she was ready for him. Her womanly scent tantalized his senses and stirred him to life. Stifling a growl, he briefly, but fiercely possessed her lips with his. She returned the enthusiasm leaning into him, standing on her toes, caressing his stubbled cheek with feathery fingertips. The shawl slipped off a shoulder and hung to the floor behind her.

Before he lost control, he tore away, took another long look at her, and hurried down the steps tugging on leather gloves.

When she called out for him to be careful, he did not look back.

For the next forty minutes, Geralt came up with every reason known to man why the healer would not want him to stay with her on a permanent basis. Irritated that he could not shake her from his thoughts, he thought of Yennefer instead, but that only left him feeling worse.

Forcing his attention back to his task, he was almost at the homestead having found nothing suggesting that anyone or anything was nearby that would be cause for alarm. No tracks out of place, no smells or sounds that would be abnormal for this time of night. Nothing. Nothing, but heavy dank air that was unusual for this time of year.

He sniffed the air. A sensation made the hairs stand out on his neck. The atmosphere, charged and electrified, but he could not pinpoint what caused it. No storm brewed anywhere nearby. His medallion jiggled again, the soft clinking of the silver chain chiming in the quiet. Wait…

The medallion had stopped trembling when he left the homestead earlier. Now that he was near, it had started vibrating again. But he wasn't near Ciri… He turned slowly around in a circle, unsheathing his silver blade, scanning the area carefully. Alert to any kind of danger, he paid attention to all his senses. The air thickened even more. With the blade ready, he cautiously approached the house. The sounds of all wildlife ceased, the leaves ceased to rustle, thick stagnant and highly charged air hovered around this house. Was Chessa not as she appeared?

Shit! No! How could he have fallen for the oldest trick in the book? Cursing himself voraciously, he sped toward the house, a sick feeling pooling in his gut.

From the direction of the house, a piercing scream split the night.

"CIRI!"

But before he made it to the porch, the sky lit up. Or at least, a small portion of it, directly in front of him. A green light sliced through the air dancing countless tiny sparkles in all directions. Much like when the spectral army had appeared, the air now got sucked into that green light and he struggled to breathe for a few moments. Gasping, he stopped, holding up his blade in a defensive stance and peered into the blinding glow.

Ciri screamed again. The door crashed open and she stood in the doorway her eyes fixed on the green anomaly. Frantic, Chessa, looking as normal as she did when he had left, tried to urge her back inside the house, but Ciri would not have it.

Perhaps Chessa had nothing to do with all this...

"Get back inside, Ciri!" Geralt hollered.

But she didn't pay him any heed. Stumbling forward, she descended the stairs and bolted into the middle of the yard, just a few paces away from him and the light.

Holding out his hand, he ordered her to stop and return to the house. Her chin raised in a clearly defiant way never taking her attention from the mysterious green phenomenon. She was not going to listen to him, he sighed moving to stand next to her.

He glanced toward the house. Chessa clutched the rail of the porch, watching with a distressed expression. Dandelion appeared next to her, just as transfixed as Ciri.

Before he could form another thought, the swirling foggy green light brightened, making them all squint, and a figure materialized on the ground, unmoving before Ciri's feet. A sword clattered nearby.

"Don't!" Geralt scrambled for her. "Don't move, Ciri! We don't know who… or what it is." With an arm across her chest, he pushed her behind him and kicked the sword out of reach.

The light vanished into the darkness, swallowed up like a black hole leaving everything in a darkness thicker than night. Slowly, the stars appeared in the sky once again.

Ciri knelt before the unconscious figure. Long fair hair covered his face. She moved to swipe away the hair...

Geralt was at her side in an instant, sword pointing at the comatose… man? Clearly a human male dressed in fine clothing underneath quality leather armor with blood stains near his shoulder.

Ciri pushed away his blade. "Geralt, is this necessary?"

"Maybe," he growled at her lack of caution.

Two pairs of footsteps hurried behind him. Chessa and Dandelion stopped, gazing down in apprehensive curiosity. Squeezing in between Geralt and Ciri, Chessa sank to the ground. Cautiously, with a hand on the figure's shoulder, she rolled him over on his back. An arrow shaft protruded from the young man's left shoulder.

"By the Gods!" Dandelion breathed.

His sword shook. In fact, both hands shook. Geralt stared unblinking down at the figure of a young nicely built man in his early twenties, and lost all ability to think, to breathe even. How could this be?

Groaning, the visitor opened his eyes for the briefest moment. Focused on Ciri at first, he smiled and visibly relaxed. With a struggle, he glanced up at Geralt and sighed again just before his head lolled to the side, losing the battle with unconsciousness.

Chessa glanced up at him and her face whitened. Then she spurred into action. Standing, she grasped his arm. "Help me, Geralt! He's alive. Bring him to my house. Hurry!"

Somehow, he managed to sheathe his blade and pick up the young man, moving stiffly and automatically. He was good size for his age. Cradling him in his arms, his head rested against his shoulder. Walking in slow motion to the house, Geralt's medallion jumped wildly against his chest. Briefly, the movement of a chain around the young man's neck drew his attention, but after a momentary glance, he kept his eyes locked straight ahead. He couldn't look down, wouldn't gaze at the man who had dropped out of the heavens for it disturbed him too much.

Chessa took over, the healer performed her craft, doing what she did best. Ciri stayed by the mysterious man's side, mothering him, smoothing back hair as light as hers. She remained calm and helped Chessa remove the arrow shaft and assisted whenever she needed an extra pair of hands. It was a side of her he had not yet seen. A good side, much better than the one he witnessed earlier tonight.

Dandelion paced in front of the hearth, his hand covering his mouth, oddly quiet and much too serious for the usually upbeat troubadour.

Geralt stood by idly, keeping to the shadows on the far side of the room, overwhelmed by this turn of events. Plagued by questions which answers would not come easily or quickly, his stomach churned, his senses remained alert, and watched the whole exchange in a state of disbelief as if trapped in a dream… a transcendental dream.

For a moment, Ciri stepped away from the bed and the man's face came into view.

Dandelion turned toward Geralt with a shocked expression and shook his head, raking a hand through his wavy hair. Clearly, he thought the same thing as he.

Geralt closed his eyes, not able to look at the man without a host of emotions it stirred within. Was this a dream? He gazed at Dandelion, silently pleading for his friend to tell him this was his imagination and he would wake up and forget everything. But, the bard's expression darkened and he turned away.

He had his answer. This was no dream.

Of their own volition, his eyes fell on the boy's face again.

It was... an impossible dream.

Notes: Many thanks to Vic-of-Thor who has been a wonderful and generous supply of support! Thank you to all the readers who have stuck with me so far and the new ones joining on this unchartered story line. I hope you all stay with me... You'll be blown away! :)


	12. Chapter 12 - Revelations Part 1

Summary: Our emotionally reeling Witcher attempts to deal with the sudden and strange appearance of a young man that only brings more questions than answers. In this chapter, we get a deeper glimpse into the heart and soul of our favorite Witcher and his ward. ***CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains an explicit love scene. (Okay, so i couldn't help myself!) ;)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

 **Chapter Text** ****CHAPTER TWELVE**** **_**_Revelations - Part 1_**_**

Chessa slumped into a chair before the hearth and breathed out a tired sigh. Fingers covered in blood, she found a way to swipe damp strands of hair away from her face with the back of her hand, careful not to smear any on her forehead. She wiped off the blood as much as possible from her hands and arms with a well-used cloth.

At the far end of the room at a table, Geralt watched, silent. A mug full of wine sat untouched before him. No one spoke, actually, Chessa clearly exhausted, and Ciri solemn. Dandelion unusually quiet through it all, stared at the small fire in the hearth. When Chessa's concerned gaze sought out his, he held it without wavering, but did not soften his expression or give any sign he was all right. He was not all right, far from it. She broke the connection and turned her attention toward Ciri.

"Come, dear. No frettin' now. Let him sleep. He needs rest."

Ciri handed Chessa an earthenware cup, which she took gratefully, and drank a large gulp of its contents. Drawing her into an embrace, the healer was careful not to get any more blood on her than she had already and kissed her hair.

"I'm grateful for your help tonight, Ciri. You were wonderful."

With a worried expression, Ciri snapped her gaze across the room and found his, her eyes questioning. He simply nodded. Relaxing, she smiled at Chessa. "You know my real name now."

"I do. Geralt told me... He couldn't help himself."

Dandelion eyed him sharply. He returned the bard's stare.

"Good. I like to be called by my real name."

Dandelion sighed and sat down on a chair opposite from Geralt. He laid out the visitor's sword on the table between them. "Well, it worked for awhile."

"My fault, I know," Geralt growled the first words he had spoken since the young man's appearance. He did not need for him to point it out.

Ciri returned to the newcomer's side, gazing down on him. "He's going to get better, right, Chessa?"

"Yes, he will," she reassured, weariness clearly present in her tone. "A textbook case, that arrow wound. It missed any major arteries. We removed it without problems, cleaned it up, and sewed the wound closed. He just needs rest and time to heal. He'll be fine in no time."

"Good." Ciri sat down on the bed beside him, found his hand, and wove her fingers through his.

Geralt frowned. Dandelion looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was she so clingy with the young man? A total stranger they knew nothing about. Where he was from or why he had appeared here of all places were just a couple of the many questions jumbled in his mind.

Chessa rose and called for Ciri to join her outside. She glanced over at the men. "We're going to get cleaned up at the pond." Opening the door, she let Ciri out before her.

Geralt rose from the chair. "Wait…"

She stopped and glanced at him. Blood smeared along the side of her nose and streaked down the column of her neck but somehow made her all the more alluring. For regardless of who the visitor was, she had saved his life. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to kill him when he discovered his intent.

Suddenly, he felt foolish for what he was about to say, and they were not alone. He shouldn't worry so much. They would be safe at the pond. He nodded. "Be careful."

"We'll be back shortly." Grabbing a couple towels and a bar of soap from a nearby woven basket, she paused before leaving the house offering him a comforting smile. "We'll be fine." Stepping out, she closed the door behind her.

Dandelion yawned loudly. "You that worried about them going to the pond alone?"

Grimacing, he felt stupid, but he did worry about them out there alone. "It's dark and late. After what had happened tonight, you question why I worry?"

Shrugging, he frowned. "No, I suppose I don't. It's only natural. But you worry way too much, in my opinion."

"Didn't ask your opinion."

"A little testy tonight, I see."

Geralt shot his friend a harsh glare that shut him up.

Turning his attention to the young man's sword, he studied it, although it did not make him feel any better. Instead of providing answers, it only instilled more questions. Silver-plated siderite steel core. He'd recognize it anywhere. Finely crafted too. He gazed down the length of it. Slightly shorter than his forty and a half inch silver blade, this one was about thirty-eight to thirty-eight and a half inches long, he'd bet. Look at that, runes etched down the middle too… just like his own Witcher's sword, but this was… No, it couldn't be…

Movement drew Geralt's attention and he looked up. Dandelion approached the sleeping young man. Looking back at the sword, he turned the shiny blade this way and that for a clearer view inspecting the runes in the candlelight.

"By the Gods, Geralt…" Dandelion mumbled, raking a hand through his hair.

"What's this?" he murmured, peering closer at the blade.

"I just can't get over it…" Dandelion was saying. "It's remarkable, really. And did you see his eyes, Geralt?"

He stared unblinking at a glyph just below the cross guard. Strange a symbol like that would grace a blade of master quality. Unusual... A single word inscribed beneath it, and recognizing the elder speech, he read it aloud. "Zire-"

"Geralt?"

"Yeah?" He gripped the hilt. Lighter than a normal sword too. Good balance, but a smaller hilt… Hmmm... the boy must have delicate hands. This was a master crafted sword, no doubt about it.

Still holding it, he reluctantly joined Dandelion standing by the bed, and his throat tightened. He was not sure he could… Taking the last step, he stood beside his friend and gazed down at the boy. His medallion trembled and his stomach flopped.

"I just can't get over it," the bard said softly. "Did you see his eyes before?"

Swallowing hard through a constricted throat, Geralt nodded. "I know," he grated in a hoarse voice. "I… I don't understand, Dandelion. How can this be? What are we witnessing here?" He looked to his friend truly desiring support in a way that was unknown to him. Support he never knew he'd ever need. Dandelion laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. A small gesture, but he drew comfort anyway.

He spotted the young man's hands. Definitely not delicate. Before he even realized what he did, he placed his large hand on top of the boy's. Hmmm… Same size. Breathing in deeply, he stepped back and held up the weapon. "And his sword… There's something about it…" He shook his head.

"A fine weapon, but what's wrong with it? Is it enchanted?"

Shaking his head, he propped the sword against the wall by the hearth. "Not enchanted, but… hmmm. Can't put my finger on it. It's a smaller, lighter sword than a man his size should wield."

"Everything about this boy is a right mystery, Geralt, and one we will uncover at some point, I'm sure. It's one of your strengths, friend. Until we can talk to him… You watch. All will become clear once we learn who he is and where he's from-"

"And why he's here," Geralt added swallowing the lump that choked him. He stared down at the boy. "It's not possible… Is it, Dandelion? It can't be… Can you believe how much he...? A Doppler... or magic," he nodded convinced. "It's gotta be higher magic that changed him…"

"Geralt," Dandelion muttered turning his full attention on him. "My friend, don't do this. Don't go there. You'll drive yourself insane. You've clearly been around too many sorceresses."

"Someone is fucking with me, Dandelion!" he growled. "This shit isn't possible. It's not, and you know it. What if he is a Doppler? Only they can change their likeness, take on the image of another person. The resemblance is too real…" Geralt turned away, knowing all too well he couldn't see through the illusion, see the true person behind the magical mask. It was not because the magic was beyond his Witcher abilities to detect, but because there was no illusion. No magic involved, here. At least, in the case of the boy's appearance. He was genuine, and everything about him was real. This was no joke, no prank. But who could be behind this?

His breathing out of control, his chest constricted painfully making it difficult to breathe. He hadn't felt this way in ages. Anxiety like he had not had since before his mutations. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he forced himself to calm down. "Need some fresh air."

"But…"

Geralt held out his hand. "Stay here with the boy in case he wakes up." And out he went, the door rattling closed behind him.

The autumn night, fresh and cool, however, a little warmer than usual for this time of year, brought him back under control if only for a few minutes. He hadn't been this shaken about anything since he survived the mutation process and woke up with white hair and strange eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he slowed his pace. Quietly approaching the pond, he kept to the shadows of the trees. The moon, bright and high in the sky, lit up a layer of wispy white clouds and bathed the pond in its silvery glow. Its reflection glittered down the center of the water's black surface in a brilliant jagged line. A doe approached and drank to her content before leaping off into the woods sensing his presence. The constant singsong of cicadas and frogs filled the night and in a few hours, any birds that had not yet migrated south would join the symphony with their own songs come dawn. The idyllic peaceful scene was at odds with his tumultuous thoughts. Questions he had no answers to left him anxious, perplexed, and disturbed among a host of other feelings he did not care to identify.

Halting, he sat down on a large boulder and tried to calm his shaking hands. A giggle echoed over the water. Ciri. Just over the way, she finished tugging on her boots and picked up a towel for Chessa. The herbalist waded out of the water.

Hungrily, he devoured her with his eyes, grateful he hid in the shadows. Her long hair, even longer now soaked and plastered to her back, the ends came to just above the swell of her backside. The backside he admired in their rendezvous earlier, and even now from this distance. She shook out her hair and turned. He lost his breath. The moonlight blessed him with a clear view of her beautiful body before Ciri wrapped her in the oversized towel. He breathed out slowly. He had enjoyed her once, but wanted more. Needed more.

He was always searching... always...

Within moments, she had dressed and they headed back toward the house hand in hand. When they had vanished from his line of sight, he listened until the door opened and then closed a few seconds later. They were back safely in the house and he relaxed, if only a little.

It was then he became aware of the deep longing, a pesky recurring ache in his soul he had tried to appease all his life, usually with promiscuous actions, and he groaned, for it had surfaced yet again. It was a feeling he'd rather not experience and burying it deep down only brought temporary relief until something triggered it. At first, being with Yen had stilled that ache for a while, until the deep void reared its ugly head again. Perhaps, that also contributed to the behaviors which drove them apart. Ah, who knows. He was tired of it all. He squeezed closed his eyes.

He always searched for that which he never had.

Sitting there on a boulder in the darkness, he felt more alone now than ever. He was the only one who understood the potential gravity of their situation. He alone had to protect them, and anticipate what new danger they might yet face.

He chucked a stone into the water. The thump and swoosh it made penetrating the surface momentarily quieted the frogs. If only he could be still.

Truth was, he had no idea what the fuck to think or do next.

Except one thing.

Gently, he pushed open the door to the bedchamber, but did not enter.

Stillness had settled like a blanket over the house at this late hour. Not a sound met his ears save for her barely detectable quiet and even breathing and the constant muffled pitch of cicadas outside offered a soothing backdrop.

The soft silvery glow of moonlight lit the cozy room enough to pick out the contours of colorful petals of floral garlands adorning every space and sheer white curtains draped around the windows and bed that gave the room a warm, inviting, and distinctly feminine touch. Not a single trace of a male presence in this house. Unusual that. Why an attractive woman in her prime would have no husband and children to her name was a question he couldn't bring himself to vocalize.

The hearth was dark and cold for the autumn night was pleasantly warm. He took a step inside then hesitated. Gazing at Chessa's slumbering form, the deep longing that had gripped him tonight continued to gnaw even after the long walk he had hoped would drive away.

It didn't.

On a bed just wide enough for two people, she slept serenely on her belly, her soft curls swept up above her head and piled on the pillows revealing a slender alluring neck. He imagined his lips there, with slow tender kisses and the thought burned him hotter than he was already. The blankets covered her from the hips down and the backless sheer white lace nightdress left her back tastefully exposed. The bumps of her shoulder blades framed a beautiful line of a spinal column that dipped into the small of her back. The anticipation of knowing what a delicious bottom awaited concealed beneath lodged the breath in his throat.

Propping his swords against the nightstand, he only removed his hand from the scabbards when they wouldn't make a sound when he let go. He shouldn't do this. He'd only be using her to satisfy his own selfish desires. He paused. He really shouldn't, but the need was too great.

Despite the sliver of hesitation, he unbuckled the leather strap around his thigh and let it and the scabbard it supported slink to the rug. With trembling fingers, he unlaced his trousers.

But, it was more than that. It was more than just satisfying a physical need. The ache grew more intense at the sight of her now. He breathed in deeply and exhaled through his nose and in the quiet, sounded loud to his ears. It was an emotional need, a deep one, one he didn't understand fully, but it centered around the very core of his being.

Stripping out of his jerkin and tunic, he tuned out the voice of reason and knelt on the mattress. It dipped beneath his weight. Heart in his throat, he feathered fingertips down her side beneath her arm, slowly tracing the side of a breast, and continued down until he reached the blankets. He followed the trail with his lips.

"Hmmmm…" she sighed. Stirring, she glanced over her shoulder. "What took you so long?"

At her groggy whisper, he could only watch her, grateful the shadows hid his face. Although he could see her clearly, she probably could not see him well.

"Are you all right?" Stretching languorously, she found his gaze.

Both hands gripped her sides and caressed the length of her torso while she stretched, the texture of the lace soft as silk and utterly pleasing. He craved more of her softness.

"I'm worried about you," she murmured. One hand reached for him and found the sensitive spot just above his knee. He sucked in air. Her touch scorched him.

She started to roll over, but he pressed a hand between her shoulder blades preventing her. He did not say anything, only let his touch communicate his wish. His other tugged the blankets down passed her knees eliciting a sigh from them both. Hers was a fluttering sigh, his, low and deep in his throat at the sight of the sheer white lace gown hugging her curves. The embroidered flowers spaced enough apart offered a tantalizing view of the smooth skin of her rounded backside, and the promise of the dark shadow splitting her down the middle flamed his excruciating need. Positioning himself behind her, he massaged her bottom and squeezed and caressed until she writhed beneath him begging for more.

The sweet and saltiness of her back, fresh from the coconut oil infused soap, pleased his senses. Placing heated kisses along her shoulders, down her shoulder blades, and then the line of her spinal column, he licked the dip at the small of her back right at the edge of the lace just before the swell of her backside. Her taste ignited every nerve ending in his body.

Sighing, she arched her back. Her mane of glorious waves spilled down over her backside. "Geralt… I know the young man shook you… I can understand why… Do you know him?"

"Ssshhh," he hissed in her ear. "Don't want to talk about it." Hunched over her, he stretched both arms out supporting himself on the downy pillows on either side of her head. Flattening his cheek against the side of her face, he buried his nose in her fresh fragrant curls. "I'm a wreck, Chessa." He grated in a rough voice against her ear, "And I need you."

Groaning sympathetically, she clutched his arm. "I know..." She turned her face towards him, her parted lips a hair's breadth from his. "Whatever you need... I'm all yours, Witcher," she breathed.

With a guttural growl, he possessed her lips in a fierce kiss before she could utter a sound. Leaning on one arm, his other hand shoved the lace gown up over her rump and it pooled in folds at her hips. Tearing his lips from hers, he scorched her backside with his mouth all the way down and drank her musky delight, savoring her taste on his tongue and in his mouth, inhaling her scent and only hers craving to be overcome by nothing else. He did not, could not think about anyone or anything, only escape from the torrent of questions and the gut-clenching emotions they fueled. This was the only way he could cope. It anchored him, gave him a sense of control and empowered him to continue on in the harsh environment of their world.

Amidst urgent moans, she whimpered and writhed, ready for him. Good... he would not last long. Already dripping, he rose to his knees behind her and plunged into her slick softness, deeply and repeatedly, not giving her time to adjust to his hard invasion. He groaned, losing himself in her hot wetness, the silver medallion rattled and jostled in rhythm against his chest. Gripping her hips and encouraged by her cries, he focused on a much more delicious kind of torment.

Forcing her into the pillows with short quick drives, he reassured himself things would make sense later. He'd sort things through, willing to believe it would be all right… he'd know what to do. Now, he was in control and would remain that way in this entire situation. He groaned, confidence and intense pleasure forced all thoughts aside and sent waves of tingles throughout his body and soul.

Her hands clutched the headboard until her knuckles turned white. Raising her hips higher enabled deeper penetration. Alternating from short quick thrusts to long slow drives erupted high-pitched vocals spurring him on. A deep growl escaped him.

Smoothing his hands up over the curvature of her bottom, they dipped in at her slim waist and over the ridges of her ribcage. Reaching around, he filled his palms with soft pliable breasts, caressed and fondled them before raking his fingers through her wild storm of curls. Flipping her glorious mane over her head, they spilled on the pillows. He tasted the back of her neck and nipped her just below the hairline. She moaned sweetly.

His breathing turned erratic, as did hers. The effects of the night melted away clearing his mind and unclenched deep muscles only to tighten again to serve another purpose.

He was not the sort of man who finished before the lady, and he clenched his teeth attempting to restrain his climax, but at the same time, craving release. It was the worst and delicious kind of torment known to man. The room spun, he squeezed his eyes closed.

"Yen…" he ground out, panting. Anything else he might have said evaporated in a breathy sigh. At this point, nothing mattered, only burgeoning release dominated all thought. Groaning, one hand clutched a hip, the other plastered her head into the pillows. With a hoarse growl, he sank deep driving into her as far as he could go and erupted, emptying himself along with all the negative thoughts and emotions that had ruled him tonight. Wave after wave of pleasurable tingling heat rippled through of his body.

She followed suit, crying out trembling around him, her spasms massaging every inch of him. Breathless, her hands sank back to the pillows.

She achieved her pleasure and he was relieved, although he would have made sure she had. Every muscle relaxed and his mind stilled, finally… Collapsing on his side next to her, he savored the warmth and rejuvenation flowing through him.

Gathering him close to her balmy body, she wrapped herself around him in lace and verbena pressing his head against her bosom holding it there steady. Whispering sweetly, she gently removed his hair tie and let his long strands fall loose around him, her fingers combing lovingly through the hair that had been white since he was a boy. Occasionally, she traced tiny kisses along the scar that dominated his face while fingers tenderly caressed the prominent slashes marring his back long scarred over.

Oh, Gods... This tender show of affection was like a soothing healing balm over his frayed soul. Comforted, he fondled and suckled her breasts through the sheer lace and then deep relaxation came over him.

Just before he let soft blackness of sleep claim him, he breathed in and sighed against her softness, her affection, and her comfort, the hunger for that which he never had, abated, if only for a little while.

Stomach clenched and a lump constricting her throat, she stepped away from the door that was not closed all the way. Her heart thudded in her chest again. All she wanted was to crawl in bed with Geralt after a nightmare that had awakened her in a cold sweat. Strangely, she heard him in Chessa's bedroom and hurried here to be with him, desperate for his presence. He always calmed her and she needed to feel safe. He always made her feel safe.

But the scene she had just witnessed burned her mind and squeezing closed her eyes, she willed them away but at the same time, intrigued by it and not understanding why. Silently, despite the anxiety, she sped back down the hall to her room and threw herself on the bed, burying her face deep into the pillows and fought against the fear lurking in the darkness.

No, she would not cry. Would not give in. Geralt was just in the other room, he would protect her.

But… the fear had no mercy.

Clutching him to her breasts still, Chessa dropped a kiss on top of his head, blinking away the fierce tears that burned her eyes, grateful he was unaware. A wave of emotions assaulted her, ones she did not expect. The bitter disappointment of being called someone else's name in the middle of such an intimate moment was bad enough, but she was not unrealistic.

He was a Witcher, and it was well known his kind traveled incessantly and would find a warm lovely woman like her to escape from the pressures their trade imposed. The constant and horrid witness of death and destruction on a regular basis and knowing he was the harbinger of most of that, must be a tough burden to carry.

But what really melted her heart was his deep need for comfort and affection. That widely perceived understanding that Witchers were void of emotion and feeling was completely false. She grinned to herself despite a tear that rolled down her cheek and dropped in the wild mass of her tresses. Oh, that was a bare-faced lie and a true misrepresentation of his kind. She had no doubt that he possessed a canny ability to keep his emotions in check when it suited him, but the raw emotion uncovering his soul tonight was palpable. Reality was, underneath his rock hard exterior with all the many scars she couldn't fathom one body possessing, he was as vulnerable as any human being, possessing deep feelings and needs. And that just made him more dear to her heart.

She had no idea who this 'Yen' was, but she must be someone very special to him. Kissing the top of his head again, his deep and even breathing told her he was fast asleep. Good. He needed the rest. She could, yet in many ways could not, understand what he was going through, but she was glad he found reprieve with her. She squeezed him in a tight embrace.

Even if it was only temporary.

Drifting awake, he floundered between that state of sleep and wakefulness, verbena prominent and soothing his senses. Total relaxation like he had not had in a long time warmed him through. Or it was Chessa that heated him. He squinted open his eyes. Molded behind her frame their legs intertwined, he laid on his side with an arm draped over her holding her possessively close against him. He wanted to stay like this forever with the fragrant softness of her hair against his face. Breathing in the sweet floral scent, he closed his eyes again. Hugging her tighter, he savored her closeness and the feminine scents surrounding him brought bliss.

She was still fast asleep and he was comfortable enough and did not want to move, but his thoughts stirred him. And his bladder. Groaning, he debated whether to take care of that now or not. He did not want to move.

The bladder won.

Ever so slowly, he peeled himself from her, grinning at the floral imprints her lace nightdress branded on his skin. When he was sure she would not awake, he sat on the edge of the bed in the dark. No one stirred the hour before dawn. It was the darkest, coldest part of the night just before the foggy gray light of the new day made its appearance. With elbows on his knees, he raked a hand through his loose hair. She still slept soundly, and even though he found restful sleep for only a few hours, he grew restless thinking about their visitor downstairs. He needed answers. The sooner, the better.

Spotting his hair tie on a pillow, he took it. Gathering the top section of his hair, he tied it back into a ponytail. Tugging on and lacing his trousers, he shrugged a cotton tunic over his shoulders. Padding over to the nightstand, he retrieved his swords and leather armor quietly. With a long glance at her slumbering form amidst tousled locks and even more rumpled bed sheets, he sighed both with longing, and regret. Last night brought relief in more ways than one, but embarrassed by his desperate need for her, he exited the room without looking back.

He shouldn't have fucked her. At least not in the manner he had. It was a bad idea from the start. Should've listened to his conscience. It was only for himself, really, to make him feel better and a terribly selfish thing to do. She should hate him for it. Probably would wish him gone now and did not blame her if she did. But thoughts of her tenderness afterwards would suggest otherwise, but he was not one to wear out his welcome.

Without a sound, he trod down the hall, her scent following him, or more to the truth, was still _ _on__ him. Traces of her taste lingered in his mouth and he smiled at the memory despite feeling conflicted over it.

Passing another room, he stalled and peeked in the cozy bed chamber, its door slightly ajar. Ciri slept peacefully, sprawled on her belly in a tornado of twisted covers, her hand resting against her cheek and long fair tresses fanned out on the pillows. Grinning at the adorable picture, he memorized it, storing the memory before closing the door quietly.

He continued down the stairs, deposited his swords and armor on the trestle table by the door, and stepped outside and relieved himself. When he returned, he glanced at the still sleeping visitor with apprehension. His stomach started knotting up again. He just couldn't believe the resem-

A piercing high-pitched wail split the quiet and when it didn't stop, he bounded up the stairs taking the steps two at a time. He burst through the door to her chamber. Ciri, tangled in the linens, flailed her arms and legs, her long pale hair swooshing in all directions. Tears streamed from her eyes. She gasped, then screamed again.

"I'm here, Ciri!" he whispered urgently, grabbing both her arms and sitting down on the bed. He had to hold her wrists fast or she would have pommeled him. "Ssshhh, I'm here." Drawing her into his chest, he embraced her fully, smoothing back her hair, running his hands up and down her back until she stilled. "I'm here. You're safe. It was just a bad dream."

She climbed onto his lap and flung her arms around his neck tightly, almost possessively. With her sniffles, wet tears pooled and dripped down into the hollow of his collarbone and dampened the collar of his tunic. Kissing her hair, he continued soothing her, rocking her back and forth until the tears stopped.

He became aware of a presence at the door. Glancing over quickly, Chessa stood there tying a robe that matched her nightdress around her waist. Her expression was one of questioning concern. She mouthed to him if she was all right and he nodded confident the worst had passed.

"Ssshhh. It's early you know," he whispered against Ciri's ear. "Try to get some more sleep, all right?"

She shook her head against him.

"Ah, come on." He paused. "You wanna talk about it instead?"

Again, she shook her head.

"Fair enough."

Chessa took a hesitant step inside the room. "Ciri… Dear...?" she began softly.

Shoving some hair away from her face, Ciri glanced at the healer. Her eyes swollen and red. Tear steaks shone on her cheeks.

"Want to sleep in my bed, hon? Just for a little while longer."

Ciri looked to him and he nodded, encouraging the idea. Glancing back at the healer, she nodded and got off his lap. Holding out her hand, Chessa took hers and led her from the room.

Geralt caught Chessa's gaze and nodded, grateful. She started to leave and he thought to apologize, but clamped up. She gazed at him a moment longer and returned to her bed chamber.

He poured a mug of wine, and downed it while watching the slumbering young man. Placing the empty mug on the table, he slowly approached him and sat in the chair beside the cot and lit the candle on the nightstand. For a long while, he studied the visitor.

He had noticed it before when he had brought the boy in from outside, but did not get a close view. Now, he could. Reaching for the young man's neck, he drew the silver chain from underneath the collar of his finely tailored tunic. Holding his breath, his mind spun… What if he recognized it? But, more so, what if he didn't? Indeed, the chain ended in a large black and gold pendant about the size of a woman's palm. Swallowing hard, he turned it around in his hand. Constructed of solid gold and onyx, its background consisted of a black checkerboard in the shape of an eight-pointed star that boasted the relief of a golden sun in the foreground, its squiggly rays pointed in all directions. Clearly, the Black Sun, the god and symbol of the Nilfgaardian Empire. So the boy was a Nilfgaardian. Sent by the Emperor himself, maybe?

He gazed back at the man and his throat closed. Was he the…? No, he couldn't be. Ciri would not have been so close and caring for the man if he were the knight that had whisked her away from the massacre of her home. So then who was this mysterious stranger and why did he look so familiar?

But there was more to the pendant, which was highly unusual. The Black Sun alone was the most recognized emblem on the continent, but in its center... a small, but with distinct detail, a silver snarling wolf-head…

"What the-?"

Tugging off his own medallion, he held it beside the boy's pendant. The wolf-heads were identical, however, the boy's was smaller in scale to fit within the circumference of the sun. Both medallions trembled in his hands and he ceased to breathe.

 _ _What the fuck is this?! HOW?!__

Notes: Thank you to Vic-of-Thor for his ongoing support and insight! Thank you to all the readers who have stuck it out this far - just wait - it gets even better!


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